


Is It Just The Wind?

by Patch



Series: A World in the Woods [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura & Keith (Voltron) Friendship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Hunk & Keith (Voltron) Friendship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Shiro is Bigfoot, Slow Burn, bigfoot au, mentions of potential allurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22677754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patch/pseuds/Patch
Summary: When Keith gets talked into going along on a hunt for Bigfoot, he truly isn't expecting much—some peace and quiet in the woods maybe, some good food courtesy of Hunk and a front row seat to Lance loosing his shit at his first encounter with Nature.Turns out the woods contain more than even he knew.
Relationships: Allura & Keith (Voltron), Hunk & Keith (Voltron), Keith & Keith's Father (Voltron), Keith & Keith's Wolf (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: A World in the Woods [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664413
Comments: 84
Kudos: 150





	1. The Magnificent Seven

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now my baby and I love them

_Bigfoot saw the Yukon Rose and their eyes met through the gloom._

_An' she was hypnotised by his gentle eyes, and was drawn across the room._

_Now they say love has no boundaries, an' I reckon that is right,_

_'Cause beauty and the savage beast, fell in love that night._

_Song of the Yukon Rose_ _\- Chris LeDoux_

xXx

Keith stares down at the table in front of him, piled high with food, and then across it to the man responsible for the feast.

Hunk stares back at him, smiling cheerfully, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. That being said Keith knew—could sense it on some level—that the look was a lie and the food was a trap. It could've also been the way Hunks eyes were pleading with him. There was something about the expression that was somehow more effective than Kosmo at his most plaintive, which Keith hadn’t actually thought was possible.

Casually, Keith pops a cherry tomato into his mouth and chews and he pointedly doesn't look away until finally Hunk folds like a stack of cards.

“Okay so you’re right, a hundred percent.” Hunk sighs and leans back into the creaking second-hand chair. “I need your help.”

Keith swallows. “With what?” he asks, curious. Hunk rarely required Keith’s help for things barring a helping hand with the more physical aspects of his engineering projects—apparently he appreciated Keith’s fine welding—or someone to wash the dishes for him or measure ingredients while baking. But if it were either of those things then Hunk would've just come out and said it as soon as he’d sat down and he _probably_ wouldn’t have gone through the effort of making him and Kosmo an entire three course meal to bribe him into it.

Hunk fidgets lightly in place, further cementing Keith’s suspicion—he only fidgeted like that when he was nervous and barring the first few weeks of their friendship, Hunk didn’t get nervous around him.

It was one of the things that Keith appreciated about him. 

Keith lets the moment stretch, hand absently playing with the ruff of Kosmo’s neck where he leant against his thigh.

Hunk continues to fidget with his fork and it goes on for as long as he can stand to let it.

“Hunk.” He waits until Hunk looks up at him. “What’s going on?”

Hunk takes a deep breath, and then another. “Remember how a couple of months ago you came out with me and some of my other friends to that bar?”

Keith nods. It would have been hard to forget, Hunk’s other friends were…colourful. And loud.

“Do you remember Lance?”

Keith’s eyebrow twitched.

“Yeah,” Hunk said, deflating slightly. “Thats what I thought.”

Keith sighs. “What does he have to do with anything?”

Hunk buries his face into his hands, letting out a groan. “He was watching one of those dumb reality shows—you know the ones where they hunt cryptids or ghosts?”

Keith did, in fact, know those shows. Late nights of bad tv were a staple for him while he worked on new designs for his metal working or even just when the insomnia kicked into high gear and had him haunting his own living room like a particularly pathetic ghost.

“Well,” Hunk continues, “All of us were sitting around watching one of them—the Sasquatch one—or the Bigfoot one? Is there actually a difference between them?…” he trailed off and Keith just shrugged. “Anyway, we were watching that one, and Allura, you remember her?”

Tall, beautiful with an air of terrifying competence around her—yeah, Keith definitely remembered her. He'd watched her almost reduce an asshole to tears when he didn't take Keith's 'no' for and answer and he'd happily paid for her drinks for the rest of the night.

Hunk sighs. “She made a passing comment about finding the whole thing interesting and Lance heard it and then had the bright idea to run with it.”

“What does that even mean?” Keith asks.

“It means,” Hunk says with the kind of world weariness that Keith usually associated with Iverson, “that he’s going Bigfoot hunting. And he’s convinced all the others that it's a good idea—though I suspect that Pidge is going along with is for potential blackmail material as well as scientific merit.” 

Keith blinks at Hunk.

“He’s planned the trip already—apparently the forests up north are known to have had a few Bigfoot sightings over the years—and I can’t talk him out of it.”

“Okay,” Keith said slowly, while his mind races. The forests up north. “Where do I figure into this?”

Hunk leans forward, staring intently into Keith eyes, and yeah, there’s that pleading look again. “I need you to help me make sure we don’t all die.”

Keith’s nose wrinkles slightly. “You mean you want me to make sure that _Lance_ doesn’t die.”

Hunk deflates. “Yeah, I mean that.”

Leaning back into his own chair, Keith huffs lightly. 

“Please,” Hunk begs. “I mean, yeah, Lance is the one I’m most worried about—he’s never been camping in his life; I don’t think he’s ever even _seen_ a real deer before—but I honestly don’t think the others are that much better. I don’t want anyone to die because they stepped into the path of a bear or something.”

“And you think I could stop that from happening,” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hunk levels him with a flat look. “You spent the entirety of last summer camping in like, three different national parks. In a tent. Thats more experience that all of us combined.” Hunk leans forward again, eyes wide. “Please come with us and keep us from dying horribly out in the woods.”

Keith stays quiet for a solid minute, looking between Hunk and the food spread across the table and then sharing one final look with Kosmo, still sitting by his side. 

In the end, the answer isn’t easy but it was never going to be different.

“I’ll do it,” he says, “if you make us meals for a month.”

xXx

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him that night. 

He tosses and turns under the sheets until he gives up, somewhere around the morning side of midnight. Outside a fluorescent light flickers erratically and the sight edges his sleep deprivation headache ever closer to a migraine. 

He gives up finally when his moving about has Kosmo sending him a baleful look from his own plush dog bed that was almost the same size as Keith’s and certainly more comfortable. 

“Sorry buddy,” Keith whispers softly and Kosmo seemingly accepts the apology and tucks his face back under his tail, large body somehow contorted into a vaguely dog shaped donut.

He slips out of his own bed and makes his way to the small kitchen. 

The view from the window above the sink was of the plain brick wall of the building next to them but Keith appreciated the privacy none-the-less. He stares blearily at the wall until his glass fills and then he skulls the cool water. A droplet runs down his neck and he wipes it away with a swipe of his hand before filling the glass up again and taking it with him over to the table.

Sitting where he was he could into the bedroom, the giant mound that was Kosmo lit up occasionally from the still flickering light. Keith sips at his water and lets his eyes fall shut against the annoyance, wishing vaguely that he had Kosmo’s ability to ignore anyone and anything that could potentially interrupt his sleep barring Keith himself.

It’ll be good, he thinks, to get away from this place for a bit.

The city had never really agreed with Keith that much; too many people, too many bright lights and too loud noises. It made him long for the relative silence and solitude of his childhood—the Before, not the After.

The Before had been peaceful, just him and his dad and the trees and the things that lived in them. The After, not so much.

He sits like that for a while, taking small sips from his glass every now and then. Between one breath and the next he notices a soft sound rumbling in from outside and then there’s a flash too big to have come from the broken light. He blinks, the dark room coming into focus and looks out of the kitchen window to see rain streaking down the glass. 

Keith takes another sip.

It'll be good to get away, but the thought of going back to those woods sent a sharp pang through his chest. 

He hasn’t been back there in thirteen years. When the city got too much he’s always turned to camping but he’s been everywhere but there—Yellowstone, Yosemite, Sequoia, and a handful of others. It felt safer almost, going to some place he’d never been before as opposed to going back to someplace he’d lived. Maybe that made him a coward but those kinds of ghosts weren’t the kind of thing he knew how to fight.

But now Hunk was asking for help and somehow...somehow that made it better. That made it possible.

He’s going back. 

The thought settles somewhere between his ribs and lodges there. He swallows hard against the feeling in his chest and drains the last of his water before getting up to put the glass back in the sink. 

He heads back to his room, stepping carefully around Kosmo and climbs back onto his bed. Outside the fluorescent light seems to have finally given up, leaving only the lightning and the rain behind.

With a heavy sigh Keith lowers himself onto the mattress. The sheets were cooler now, and he tugs the thinning thrift store blanket over his shoulders and curls onto his side, back to the wall. The sound of the rain is enough to have his eyes feeling heavier by the moment 

He looks over his room again—Kosmo on the floor, a giant mount of fur. His small desk sat up against the only free wall and he can see the sketches and pencils and other knickknacks that covered it—chief among them the small plastic robotic lion, its red paint lit by the faint flashes of lightning.

xXx

_In his hand was a toy._

_It was small but it was big in his hands—a child's hands. There’s a chip in the red of one of the wings; he’d dropped it once and then cried when he’d realised he’d hurt it._

_The shape of it is familiar and well loved and it’s heavy in his hands but not because it weighs much._

_It’s heavy because he loves it and he’s giving it away._

_The stump is old and weathered and rests half in their clearing and half in the woods. Behind him, his home stands nestled against the trees at its back, comforting and safe and he can hear his dad humming somewhere within it._

_He sits down in front of the stump and it looks big like this but then again everything is big and he is small and the black lion in his hands is somehow both._

_It takes a while for him to put it on the smoothed surface of the stump, its face turned out towards the woods. In his room there’s another lion, smaller and red and a matched set and some part of him wants to cry because they’re not going to be a set anymore—but that’s okay._

_This was a good thing._

xXx

It takes a week for Hunk to get back to him with the date the others have decided on—enough time for Keith to double and triple check his camping equipment and give his truck a much needed tune up. 

When the day finally arrives Keith empties his fridge, does a final sweep of his apartment and then hauls his things downstairs, stowing them away carefully in the bed of his truck. Kosmo jumps into the passenger seat, contorting himself to fit his bulk into the small space, head facing the window as Keith places his thermos of coffee into the cupholder and then they’re off.

He follows the GPS to the address Hunk had given him—Allura’s house, he thinks. It’s in an area of the city he’s never really gone too; houses instead of appartments, larger and more expensive than anything Keith would have been able to afford even with the insurance money.

Even without the GPS telling him where he was, he thinks he’d have been able to pick it out anyway. Large with a garden full of flowers and shrubs, it stood out amongst the carefully maintained lawns of the surrounding houses—the three camper vans parked out front might have been another clue. 

He drives further down and then turns around, coming to park behind the last van that he thinks might belong to Hunk’s small friend. It looks older than the other two, more antennas coming off it than a radio tower with a strip of green painted down the side for no particular reason that Keith can discern.

He’s contemplating getting out of his truck when a flash of soft pink flickers in the corner of his vision, and Kosmo’s ears prick straight up.

“Oh,” comes a softly accented voice, “Hello Keith.” 

She’s smiling, fairly bouncing in place as she stops by his open window and it takes a few seconds for Keith to remember manners. 

“Hey, Allura.” He gives her a brief but genuine smile and she beams back at him. 

Keith’s only met her a few times before—once at the bar Hunk dragged him to and a two times after that in the library on campus—but he liked her.

“This is exciting isn’t it.” Her hands clasp delicately in front of her as she turns slightly to look at the vans. “I can’t say I’ve ever done something like this before.”

“Can’t say I have either.” Keith rubs at Kosmo’s ears when he twists in his seat to lay his head over Keith’s lap.

Allura laughs softly. “Bigfoot hunting probably isn’t on most normal peoples activities list,” she concedes. “I’m glad you agreed to come with us though.”

Keith blinks up at her, hand stilling on Kosmo’s head. “Oh,” he says. “Really?”

She looks down at him, a flash of something crossing her face before disappearing quicker then Keith could register. 

“Yes,” she says after a moment. “I admit, I was relieved when Hunk said he convinced you come—your expertise will surely be greatly appreciated in this endeavour, I heard you even picked our campsite.” At Keith’s nod her expression seems to soften slightly. “Plus I’ve enjoyed your company the few times we’ve talked.” 

Keith’s hand flexes on Kosmo’s head. “Oh,” he says again. “I like your company too.” It’s an honest thing to say because Keith does but somehow it comes out sounding like a question—like he’s guessing if that’s the right thing to say, which, he sort of is. Either way Allura seems to take it like the complement he meant it to be; grinning at him happily like he’d managed to stumble his way into the correct answer.

There’s a loud commotion from somewhere beyond the van in front of him and Allura leans back and looks around, eyes narrowing on whatever she sees. 

“Honestly,” she says sounding exasperated. She turns back to look at him and pats a hand against the edge of the open window. “I need to go help them but we should be ready to leave in about five minutes. I assume you’ll be driving in front and we’ll all follow?”

“Thats the plan,” Keith says with a nod. “Do you need any help?”

She waves him off. “No, this’ll only take a minute to sort.” 

She drifts off to fix whatever it was that needed to be fixed and Keith leans back in his seat and yawns. He takes a sip of his coffee and settles in to wait for a bit, dozing almost between the soft morning breeze coming in through the window and the comforting warmth radiating off of Kosmo.

At almost ten minutes exactly he’s roused by the sounds of shouting and the slamming of doors and he opens his eyes just at the three vans in front of him rumble into life. Hunk appears around the side of the one in front of him, sweat glistening on his forehead and he gives Keith a thumbs up before vanishing again, presumably into the van.

Keith takes a long sip of his coffee, stows it away again and then pulls away from the curb and begins to drive. 

xXx

The drive out to his chosen camping ground is about an hour and a half long. 

The road winds out from the city and through a small plot of open pasture land before the trees begin to creep in. The road is empty of traffic and Kosmo has his head out the window for most of the drive, the wind ruffling through his dark fur.

It was a nice drive, much like how he remembered it being when he was a kid, sitting in the passenger seat with a toy or pencils and paper or even just holding onto a full shopping bag while his dad sang along to whatever played on the radio. The fragrant morning air came as a welcome change from the usual smells of the city—the smell of fumes and fast food giving way to grass and tilled earth and then again to the familiar scent of pine as the trees began to close in around them as they passed into the national park.

Keith took the path by memory, heading down one of the smaller dirt roads to one of the lesser used campsites that he remembered his dad taking him to when he was six and wanted to try camping in the woods with a tent and a fire and smores as opposed to their cabin. 

He barely spots the break in the tree line at first—only notices it because he was looking for it and the old twisted tree that marked it. He turns off the road, through the gap and pulls into a natural clearing, surrounded on all sides but one by the woods with a dirt pit towards the centre and two faded wooden tables with equally faded benches. 

Keith parks off to one side and watches the others pull in and park evenly spaced around the campsite. 

He opens his door and moves aside to avoid being bowled over by Kosmo in his haste to exit the truck. His dog immediately puts his nose to the ground, sniffing at the grass and smattering of wildflowers growing throughout the clearing. Keith can hear the others talking, moving things out of the vans and setting up the campsite to their liking but Keith takes a moment to lean back against the side of his truck with the last of his coffee and just…look.

The clearing was lit with thick, almost dreamy light, somehow filtering down despite the cloud cover that lingered overhead and far more overgrown than he remembered it being. The trees were starting to bow inwards toward the open area and there was grass beginning to grow inside the fire pit. 

Keith drinks the final dregs of his now cold coffee and stares at the swaying line of trees. It’s dark amongst the underbrush, and the faintest hint of morning mist still not burned away by the sun clings amongst the branches. 

Somewhere to the east was a cabin in the woods. Keith wondered what it looked like now. 

There was the press of a cold nose against his hand and Keith startled, looking down into yellow eyes. Keith huffs, looking away from the tree line and he takes a moment to rub at Kosmo’s head. 

“Let’s get to work, I guess,” Keith mutters, half to himself and half to his dog, and went to start setting up his things.

It was easy to settle into the familiar rhythm—sorting out his tent while Kosmo did his best to knock it down again. Eventually Kosmo disappears, off to bother Lance from the sounds he can hear coming from one of the vans. Keith grabs his pack, stowing it away in his tent beside his sleeping bag and a second tattered and fraying one that Kosmo likes to sleep on. 

He clears away the grass from the fire pit and helps Hunk and Allura’s uncle move the coolers they’d brought along, dodging around the small one—Pidge, he remembers—and her various electronics equipment that was already slowly beginning to take up one of the tables and Allura who was looking through it all and asking questions. 

Lance was off to one side, carrying out what looks to be camping chairs from the camper van that he was sharing with Hunk and placing them strategically around the pit. 

“So,” he says loudly, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Who’s going to get the fire going?”

Keith grunts as he drops the cooler he’s carrying onto the free table where Hunk was pointing. “I’ll do it.”

“Will you be needing any help collecting wood,” comes a question from Coran. The man is bright and cheerful, twirling one end of his moustache as he looks at Keith. “Many hands and all that.”

Keith dusts his hands off. “No, should be fine.”

He leaves them for his truck, Kosmo loping along at his side as he walks around to the back of it and unearths his toolbox. Under the top layer with its assorted screwdrivers and hex keys and an old hammer is an ax, handle worn but well cared for and covered in its protective sheath. He pulls it out to check the blade before resting it on top of the toolbox—just in case. There were a few large fallen branches he could see scattered about the edges of the clearing. He’d pick up smaller ones first and then if need be, deal with one’s he’d need to cut down to size. 

Keith left the camp behind, the sound of chatter fading slightly as he stepped into the tree line. Kosmo followed, nose to the ground as he went about picking up decently sized sticks, though he made sure to not wonder off too far into the trees.

It was cooler under the canopy—not by much but it had the slight sheen of sweat on the back of neck cooling to an uncomfortable degree. Kosmo snuffles about by his feet, ears pricking up when a shriek sounds from the campsite.

It sounds like Lance, so Keith doesn’t stop collecting firewood.

He’s got a decent armful when a sound echoes from amongst the trees.

Keith’s head whips up, turning in the direction the noise had come from. At his side, Kosmo has gone stiff, yellow eyes alert and watchful. The silence stretches, his grip on the wood in his arms tightening until it creaks ominously and he has to force himself to let go. 

It’s nothing, Keith reasons to himself—just a branch falling somewhere in the distance or an animal moving about amongst the underbrush, possibly a deer. The woods get loud sometimes, he knew this and if it was an animal it was more likely to be heading away from him and their camp.

Keith slowly turns to leave, and there’s another sound, closer, coming from a thicket of dark woods to his left. 

He freezes and stares but no matter how hard he looks he can’t see anything moving about in the gloom. A quick glance downwards shows him that Kosmo doesn’t look overly concerned—curious more than anything, head cocked to the side but no raised hackles. 

Carefully, Keith hikes up the wood in his arms, turns his back on the woods around him and leaves.

The chill against the back of his neck lasts until he’s standing back out in the sun, carefully piling up his collection of wood off to the side of their camp. He stood back and surveyed it for a moment, considering whether it was worth it to go get more wood. 

Keith shook his head. It would be enough for now.

“Ham sandwich?”

Keith looks back at the proffered food Hunk is holding out. “Thanks.”

“No worries, I even got something for Kosmo.” Hunk shakes the container in his hand and they both watch as Kosmo stops nosing about the pile of wood to come sit at their feet. 

Hunk pops the lid and puts it on the ground for Kosmo to get at while he and Keith dig into their own food. 

“This is a nice spot,” Hunk gets out between bites. “More remote than I was expecting though. I thought this park got more traffic?”

“It does.” Keith peels back more of the sandwiches wrappings. “But that’s more towards the far west on the other side of the ravine and you and Lance wanted some place more quiet, somewhere you’d be more likely to find something more than just tracks tourists leave behind.”

“Uhh, I think it might be a tad strong to say that I _wanted_ to be far away from people,” Hunk says, nose wrinkling at the thought. Then he blinks. “So wait, do you actually think we’ll find something? Like, do you think that there’s something out there for us to find?”

Keith chews slowly. “I think…” he says, trailing off with a frown. He looks into the tree line. “I think there’s always a chance. People go missing in the woods sometimes—sometimes its animals or the land itself, but it happens. Sometimes you never find them. I don’t see why something couldn’t stay hidden if it _wanted_ to.”

“Well,” Hunk says after a moment. “That was comforting. But you’re right I suppose. The world’s pretty big even if it seems small sometimes. I guess it wouldn’t be strangest thing to imagine there’s something out there in those woods.”

Keith nods. “My dad used to tell me stories about things that lived in the woods,” he adds absently before shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. 

He looks down at Kosmo, who’s leaning up against his leg, the container in front of him licked clean. He bends down and scoops it up, handing it to Hunk when he holds his hands out for it.

“We’re not going anywhere today?” Keith asks.

Hunk shakes his head. “Lance and the others want to sort out equipment first and work out who gets to deal with what. Why?”

“If we’re not leaving till tomorrow, I’ll start setting the fire pit up for tonight.” Keith dusts his hands off against his legs, sending fine crumbs falling to the ground. “Let me know if you need me for anything.”

“Will do,” Hunk says with a nod before drifting off towards the rest of the group.

xXx

It didn’t take long for him to get the fire pit ready and without anything else to do—having skirted the table covered in Lance and Pidge’s Bigfoot hunting tools with Hunk and Allura’s blessing—he found himself sitting in the bed of his truck, legs stretched out before him with Kosmo pressed against his side, sketching absently in his notebook.

It had passed midday and the sun was on its slow but steady descent towards the horizon, shadows shifting with it. The light had weakened over the course of the last hour or so, even more cloud cover rolling in though at the very least it didn’t smell like rain to Keith. 

Despite the chatter from the others it was peaceful and Keith could feel the knot of tension between his shoulders softening the longer he sat there.

Bit by bit, the shape of trees took form on the page in front of him. Branches reached for the sky, shadows between them dark as pitch with the faintest hint of the plant life growing between them at ground level. He’s so absorbed in the task that he doesn’t notice it at first. 

A chill down his neck but without the cooling sweat to blame for it. Keith looks up from his notebook in increments, facing the woods. 

It feels like he’s being watched.

He knows the sensation. He’d figured out pretty quickly in the group home that it was good to know when someone was watching you. Paranoia had cultivated the skill till it was a fine art and accurate to a fault.

He stares into the tree line, a frown forming on his lips. Against his legs, Kosmo has gone still; his ears are pricked, alert and watchful as he stares—past the open clearing, past the trees and into the woods—but no matter how hard or carefully he looks, Keith can’t see anything in the deep shadows. 

It’s there and gone again between one breath and the next. Kosmo huffs and puts his head back down to doze, apparently unconcerned and Keith makes the executive decision to follow suite and put it out of his mind. 

Eventually he puts his notebook off to the side and scoots down until he’s laying flat in the bed of his truck. The clouds are too thick for cloud watching but the sun is still nice on his skin so he closes his eyes, one hand resting gently on his dogs neck, and he lets himself drift.

He thinks he spends a few hours like that, just laying there. The sound of the others talking fades into the background along with Kosmo’s deep whuffing breaths. There’s no cars, no flickering fluorescent lights, no people being loud apart for the occasional indignant sounding squark coming from Lance.

It’s nice. 

He’s almost about to drift further towards sleeps when the sound of soft footfalls reach him, followed by a faint polite knocking against the side of his truck.

Keith’s eyes blink open to a rapidly darkening sky and Allura’s soft grin. 

“Hunk sent me to fetch you,” she says. “Dinner is about to be served and we think we’ve sorted out roughly what we want to accomplish while we’re here and we need your input.”

Keith rubs at his eyes, stifling a yawn. “Okay, coming.”

Kosmo makes a disgruntled noise when Keith gets up, wriggling in place dramatically before finally rising to follow Keith.

He walks a step behind Allura as she heads over to the chairs around the fire pit where the others were already sitting, chatting amongst themselves as Lance handed out beverages and Hunk doled out more containers with food.

“There’s the mountain man,” Lance exclaims as Keith walks up. “We need your nature knowledge and also for you to start the fire.”

“On it,” Keith says around another yawn, shuffling between Pidge and Coran to get straight to the pit and the branches he’d arranged earlier. It only takes a second for the kindling to get going and for him to carefully coax it into catching properly on the rest of the wood and then he’s sinking back into his own chair, accepting his own container from Hunk and a second one for Kosmo.

Inside his own is something that might be Mac and Cheese but more gourmet while a quick glance into Kosmo’s own reveals what might actually be a rare cooked steak, diced for easier eating.

“Oh man, how come he gets steak,” Lance whines, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of Kosmo’s food.

Hunk whacks him gently in the back of the head. “Because Kosmo is a good boy and people who leave unwashed dishes in the sink don’t get steak.”

Lance rubs at the back of his head. “That was one time,” he says miserably as Allura laughs gently off to the side. “besides how do you know it’s me and not Pidge—OW!”

Lance rocks to the side, rubbing at his arm and glaring at Pidge’s retracting arm. “I actually retained the manners my parents taught me Lance, don’t try pinning that on me. Besides we have a dishwasher,” she adds, exasperated. “Why don’t you just use that?”

“Because I don’t know what you did to it,” Lance replies flatly. “I’m like, 99% certain that it’s sentient now and it doesn’t like me.”

“To be fair,” Pidge says around a mouthful of salad, “if it doesn’t like you, it’s probably because you did something dumb.” 

“How do you know it’s not just because it’s broken,” Lance retorts and then immediately blanches as he’s struck with double looks from both Pidge and Hunk.

“That would be because I did the software improvements while Hunk did the hardware,” Pidge says with terrifying sweetness before leaning over to rap her knuckles against Hunks. 

“Truly, I can’t imagine a creation of Pidges or Hunk’s breaking in any significant way,” Allura admits around a soft giggle. 

“They are masters of their crafts,” Coran agrees, walking up to their group to sink into the last remaining chair with a sigh. “That repair job you did on the car is still working wonderfully by the way.”

Keith watches them talk back and forth, happy to listen in to the conversation without joining for now. Kosmo pants at his side, happy and content after getting food prepared just for him. Keith finishes his food quickly, quicker than all the others and puts away the container to be dealt with later and settles back down with a hand buried in the ruff of Kosmo’s neck. 

Another hour passes like that, the fire flickering between them, keeping away the encroaching chill of the night. The others finish their own meals, slower than him, and relax as the stars come out.

“So,” Lance says after a while. “We were talking plans for tomorrow and we decided to try starting early.” There’s a faint gagging sound from Pidge and Lance sighs dramatically while nodding in agreement. “Yeah but we want to spend as much time as possible looking for Bigfoot, right?”

“Exactly,” Allura says. “The longer we have the light, the better off we are. Even with Keith here, I don’t particularly relish the thought of staying out in the woods too late.”

“Any ideas where we should head first Mountain Man?” Lance directs towards him.

Keith thinks back to the maps he’d looked over the week prior to refresh his memory. “Start in the west I think. It’s easier terrain that way so we can get out bearings, and we can work our way across the harder stuff from there.”

“Cool cool cool,” Lance says. “So you’ll be our guide through the dark and terrible woods, the rest of us will have our cameras, and plaster and a few other things and Coran will be manning the home base while we’re out just in case something goes horribly horribly wrong.”

“I shall do my best with this duty,” Coran says with mock seriousness. “A fire shall be lit to welcome weary travellers home, and hot cocoa awaits after a long day.”

“You do make excellent cocoa,” Hunk agrees and Coran preens.

Which is deserved if Hunk praises a culinary skill, Keith admits silently. 

There’s a sudden shriek as a beetle scurries across Lance’s leg, startling the rest of them. Keith settles back down into his chair, heart pounding slightly in his chest as he watches Lance scrabble to get it off him.

“You know,” he says, eyebrow raising. “For someone whose idea it was to come out here, you don’t seem to like nature that much.”

“What? I love nature,” Lance hisses as curls his legs up into his chair while Pidge mocks him gently. “Natures great. So sue me if I don’t particularly want nature _on me_ with like. A million legs.”

“A beetle is an insect,” Keith points out.

Lance looks over at him. “So?”

“So it only has six legs, not a million.”

“Well, I suppose that’s something be thankful for,” Lance mutters after a moment. “God can you imagine a beetle with a million legs?”

To Keith’s surprise Allura shudders along with him. “Its the legs,” she explains when she notices Keith’s look. “I’m fine with insects in general but their legs just—” She breaks off to shudder again and Coran laughs gently.

“You especially hated butterflies as a child, if I recall.” He leans back in his chair, stroking gently at his moustache. “I’ve never seen a little girl run away from butterflies as much as you did.”

“I just wanted to play in mothers garden,” Allura complained, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “They wouldn’t leave me alone though.” 

“Too entranced by your beauty, I guess,” Lance says, sincere and Allura snorts. 

The group turns back to soft chatter and Keith lets himself zone out for a bit, watching the fire flicker back and forth in the soft breeze rolling in over the tree tops. The smell of burning wood brings back memories—flashes here and there of being in this same place in a different time. 

Conversation eventually peters out and one by one the others drift off to get and early start to the night. Pidge and Allura take one van, Lance and Hunk in another, and finally Coran wanders off to the last van that he has to himself. Keith sits there a little while longer, running his hand absently through Kosmo’s fur until another yawn cracks his jaw.

He rises and sets about banking and taking care of the fire. The breeze is picking up and there’s a chill to it that wasn’t there ten minutes ago but it still doesn’t quite smell like rain but the first hint of something hangs in the air—a charge that wasn’t quite ozone but might become it given half the chance. 

Eventually he drags himself back to the familiar sight of his tent. The shadows are long and deep, the moon half hidden by clouds. When he looks out at the tree line he can see a few feet at best before everything becomes a mess of black and the suggestion of shapes. Things move in the dark, branches bending under the wind and stirring shadows or maybe even wildlife coming out for the night. 

He stands there for a long moment, eyes falling shut, just listening. 

He can hear the ever present creaking of wood and somewhere off in the distance an owl—in the dark something flies overhead on silent wings, maybe a bat. 

Fur brushes along his fingertips as Kosmo passes him and he makes to open his eyes.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

His eyes snap open but the feeling is already gone, the sensation of being watched melting away into the night. On a breath, he looks down and Kosmo is watching the woods, yellow eyes gleaming. 

Keith licks his dry lips. “Come on boy,” he whispers.

Together they make the rest of the way to his tent and he crawls his way inside, holding the flap up for Kosmo to follow. He strips and tugs on sleepwear and then worms his way into his sleeping bag, Kosmo curling up on his own, close enough to press against Keith ever so slightly. 

Outside the tree’s sound like water, the wind running through the leaves, a sound Keith remembers. Windy nights before storms, curled against his dad and fighting to stay away as his voice lulled him ever closer to sleep.

xXx

_“Watcha doin’ kiddo?”_

_Keith cranes his neck back to look up his dad. “He need’s a toy,” Keith said simply before looking back at the lion._

_He feels his dad hand come to rest lightly against his head. “Who need’s a toy?” His dad sounds confused which is silly because his dad had been the one to tell him._

_He points to the woods. “He needs a toy,” he says again. “He needs a toy to play with so we can be friends.”_

_There’s a moments silence and then his dad laughs, soft and warm and it rolls through him like a summer breeze. “You mean the little one? You wan’t to give him a toy?”_

_Keith nods and then moves the lion forward a bit to the red of its wings catches the light. There’s the crack of his dads knees as he crouches down behind him, both hands resting against his shoulders. They squeeze gently._

_“We should leave ‘em a note I think.”_

_“A note?” Keith looks up at his dad and watches him nod. “Why?”_

_His dad hums. “Otherwise he might be worried that if he took it, it might be stealing. You should leave a note so he knows it's a gift.”_

_“Oh.” Keith looks at the lion again. “That makes sense.”_

_“I try,” his dad says, ruffling his hair._

_“Can you help me write it,” Keith asks as he takes his dad’s hand and stands._

_“Sure thing kiddo.”_

_And they walked back to their home and somewhere off in the distance a branch snaps._

xXx

Their first day searching though the forest is a bust as far as Bigfoot goes. 

It's moderately sunny when he wakes, cloud cover scant at best but as he takes a deep breath, standing at the opening of his tent he can smell the faintest hint of rain on the air. 

Keith looks up, squinting against the light.

It doesn't look like it’s going to rain soon at least, if he had to wager a guess he’d say maybe mid to late afternoon. 

Morning preparations pass quickly once the others are awake. It's not early exactly, maybe an hour or two had passed since Keith woke with the dawn but the sun had already begun to weaken, going watery and thin as the minutes pass. 

“Do you think it’ll rain?” Keith spun to look at Allura and she gestured to the sky. “It just looks incredibly...dreary I guess. Not the most auspicious of beginnings.”

Keith shrugs. “Later in the afternoon I think but we should have a few hours before it starts.” He looks over at the rest of them and add, “Provided we, you know, actually leave any time soon.”

Allura quirks a grin at him. “They are rather slow to start. They’re not used to sleeping in beds other than their own, I think.” She gestures vaguely at the woods around them. “Too different sounds.”

Keith hums in agreement. It had never bothered him that much but that would have been a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

“It doesn't bother you?” Keith sat down against the bench he’d been leaning on, gratified when Allura followed suit. 

“I traveled a lot as a child,” she said with a small smile. It wasn't a happy one, exactly but it wasn’t entirely sad either. “My parents were diplomats and while they insisted I had a relatively stable childhood, I still spent a fair but of it in and out of hotels. Nowadays I don't travel as much but Coran and myself still try and make yearly trips if we can.”

“Oh?”

“Last year he took me to Italy.”

“Sounds nice,” Keith murmurs

Allura looks at him curiously. “Hunk said you travel a lot.”

Keith shrugs again. “Within America and mostly to national parks and stuff. Never been to New York or anything like that.”

“Don't want to or just no chance,” Allura questioned. 

Keith thought for a second. “Both, I guess? I tend to go places to get away from people; not too keen on going somewhere with even more of them.”

“Fair enough.” Allura smiled at him. “Cant say I enjoy being around too many people either sometimes.”

“You always seem to enjoy it,” Keith says hesitantly. The few times he’s seen her on campus she’d been surrounded by people. 

“I do,” she assures him. “For a while at least. But then sometimes my battery runs low and I need some time away—I just suspect it takes longer for it to happen to me that it does to you.”

“Sounds about right,” Keith sighs.

“I know this probably wasn't what you were hoping for,” Allura said carefully. 

Keith blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Hunk always told me that you travel to places like this to get away from people. But now we’re here too.” The look in her eyes, when Keith glanced at her, was sympathetic and vaguely apologetic. “I just can’t imagine this was your ideal trip.”

Keith doesn't reply for a moment. “Its not so bad,” he decides after a moment. “Im out if the city, I've got Kosmo with me—couldn't ask for more than that really.”

“You really wouldn’t, would you?” There’s a curious tone to her voice then, something soft and gently. When he looks at her, questioning, she merely smiles and shakes her head. 

“Well,” she says after a moment, “regardless I for one am glad you’re here. This whole thing is so exciting and I feel like having you here can only increase our chance of success.”

“You think we’ll find something.”

Allura cocks her head to the side, considering. “I would certainly like to. And it just seems terribly dull to go into this thinking there’s nothing more out there than we’ve already seen.”

“Don't take this the wrong way,” Keith says slowly, “but I guess i wouldn’t have figured you for the type.”

Allura waves him off. “No offence taken. In another situation I might not have but Coran has aways been enthusiastic about the...unusual.” At Keith’s raised eyebrow, she continues. “His family had always been fascinated by the strange and he is very much the same—and it was a passion he shared with my father.”

“Oh?”

Allura nods. “My mother also, though to a lesser extent I believe. I’m almost surprised that Coran has never been Bigfoot hunting before, to be honest.”

At that moment there’s a call from the man in question, bright and as loud as his hair. Allura stands, brushing her hands off briskly. 

“I suppose it's time to be off then.”

“Looks like it.” Keith watches as the others sort out their packs and equipment, poking and prodding at each other. “I’ll grab my pack.”

Allura nods as she walks off and Keith nudges Kosmo, where he’s lounging in a thin patch of sunlight. 

“Time to go buddy.”

Kosmo makes a sound of discontent before budging, shaking himself awake. 

It takes only a minute to grab his pack and strap on his mother’s knife and then he’s joining the rest of the group at the edge of the clearing. He can see the burnished red of Coran’s hair milling about by the fire pit, going about whatever chores he’s set for himself while they’re gone. 

Lance and Pidge are arguing between each other but it doesn't take much for Keith to tune them out. 

Together, they head off down the path Keith had chosen days ago. 

The feeling of being watched is gone and the forest around them is peaceful. Keith finds deer tracks, an interesting rock which he pockets quietly, and has the joy of watching the others freak out over a small salamander they find after knocking over a rotting log. It starts drizzling lightly about an hour in, more of a mist than anything, and it lasts for a good few hours but otherwise its a genuinely nice day with his dog and friends. 

They get back to camp just as the sun began sinking below the tree line. 

The others fell into their chairs with grateful groans as Coran handed out dinner one by one. Pidge and Hunk looked about half ready to fall asleep in their food and Lance and Allura didn’t look much better by the time they’d finished eating. 

Their exhaustion mean that the night was a quiet one. Keith was tired too, but not to the same extent. Still, he was more than happy to sit back with Kosmo laying across his feet and listen to whatever story Coran was willing to tell by the firelight.

It was easy to drift like that; soft and easy. His limbs ached ever so faintly from the long walk, but it was a pleasant ache. He was warm from the fire, he was full with Hunk’s cooking and Kosmo was a heavy weight against his legs. When the first yawn cracked his jaw, he wasn’t surprised.

“I suppose it is getting late,” Coran mused at the end of his story. “Perhaps it’s time to turn in?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Pidge yawned wide, glasses reflecting orange and yellow. “I thought fresh air was meant to make you feel energised.”

“Probably not after the day we’ve had,” Hunk says, bending down to haul her to her feet. “Beside Keith’s tired too, so it’s gotta be normal.”

Keith blinked at them drowsily. And watched as Hunk pulled Lance to his feet as well. 

“I’m pretty sure my feet aren’t meant to feel like bricks,” Lance groused, flopping dramatically against Hunk’s side. “Just leave me here, my legs don’t work.”

“And listen to you complain about insect bites in the morning? Ahh, no thanks buddy, I’ll pass.” When Lance didn’t make a move to stand on his own, Hunk sighed and then hefted him up over his shoulder like a sack.

“Do I weigh nothing to you,” Keith heard Lance mutter. If he got a reply it was too soft to hear.

Pidge followed, feet dragging as she went.

There was the crackle of wood in the fire pit and a shower of embers licked up into the sky as a branch collapsed in on itself. Allura was still sitting across from him, head leaned in towards Coran’s as they talked in low voices. 

Keith closed his eyes for a second and then opened them when a hand touched his own.

“Goodnight Keith.” Allura was standing by his chair. The fire was lower than it had been, more coals than flame. “Go and get some sleep." 

“‘Nite Allura.”

He didn’t watch her leave instead he just yawned again and stretched. His spine cracked and Kosmo looked up at him at the sound. “Time to go to bed.”

Keith stood and made for the fire pit, ready to bank it properly when Coran cut in front of him, waving him off. 

“You go on and get some sleep; I can take care of the fire.”

Keith paused. “You sure?” he asked hesitantly. 

Coran smiled at him. “Of course. Shouldn’t take too long to do and you look like you’re ready to fall asleep standing up.”

Keith lingered for a long moment but eventually nodded. If Coran was offering then who was he to turn it down.

With a quick goodnight Keith walked around him and headed off to his tent, Kosmo at his side. 

With the fire at his back and quickly dimming, the walk to his tent seemed longer and darker than it was. His eyes struggle to adjust for a moment, spoiled with the abundant light provided by the camp fire. Now that the heat is gone, the chill of the wind nips at his face and his fingers and a light shiver runs up his spine.

Keith took his steps cautiously—it was easy to think that the walk to his tent was clear in his experience it was that kind of thinking that lead to sprained ankles. He moved on instinct, naturally following Kosmo as he took the lead until he’s, once again, standing in front of his tent. 

There’s the sound of Coran moving about somewhere behind him—around the chairs and heading towards the vans until the sound of a door opening and closing reaches him—and then he’s alone. The faintest hint of woodsmoke clung to his clothes and Keith took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar scent. 

By all rights he shouldn’t like fire. It had taken from him, it had taken so much from him. But this, this smell and the lingering warmth that had seeped into his clothes, buried itself further. 

Nights around a camp fire, the fireplace in the cabin—the same smell had clung to his dad clothes along with the sweet smell of the honey he’d like to put in his tea and on his toast. 

Above him were the same stars he’d learnt at his dad’s knee.

Keith’s breath rushed from his lungs.

There was a press of warmth against his leg and he looked down into yellow eyes. They heard his gaze for a moment before cutting away as Kosmo yawned, revealing long, sharp teeth to the faint moonlight above. The cloud’s parted further and the shadows shifted with it until Kosmo was an ink blot at his side, and above them, stars glimmered in streams and ribbons. 

The clouds shifted again and the stars fade.

The wind whips over the tree tops and across the clearing, stirring the grass like ripples across a pond and somewhere off in the night a wolf howls.

“Chimes at midnight,” Keith murmurs to himself.

Kosmo makes a sound, soft and warm, pressing against his side again before turning and nudging his way through the flap. Keith lingers, for a second and then a minute before finally turning away to follow.

The nape of his neck prickles and off in the distance there’s the snap of a branch—loud against the quiet stillness of the night.

For a brief second, Keith wonders if he might be dreaming. But the moment passes within a breath and he’s standing there, one hand against his tent and his back to the woods.

Carefully, Keith turns around.

No matter how hard he strains, he can’t see beyond the tree line. Shadows stretch too deep between their trunks, the bows of the tree’s too dense to let the smattering of moonlight through. There’s a moment when he think’s he sees something—a massive shape in the dark, looming in the spaces between two trees—but then he blinks and it’s gone. 

A trick of the light.

Goosebumps raise the hairs on his neck and on his arms but, as he stands there, they subside. The sensation of being watched is still there but his heart rate lowers until it's a steady beat.

The initial flash of fear is gone, washed away and replaced with the odd certainty that whatever was out there meant him no harm. 

Eventually the dull ache of his legs threatens to turn into something more, and the chill of his fingers becomes too much. He turns his back to the woods and heads inside to sleep.

xXx

Day two goes very much the same way at the beginning, minus the salamander.

Keith wakes to another morning of dull sunlight and lingering cloud cover. The wind is biting enough that the first thing he does afters morning routine is build up the fire—the others will probably appreciate the warmth this early in the morning and Coran would no doubt enjoy having it as he kept the camp. 

One by one the others join him around the fire, quietly eating the food Hunk hands out and the fresh coffee Coran follows up with. 

Pidge and Lance settle into a quiet conversation—or arguments, Keith honestly found it difficult to tell sometimes. Allura was dozing lightly, steaming mug clasped in her hands and her head leaning against Coran’s shoulder where he had dragged his own chair to but up against hers. Kosmo is slowly eating his way through his own food at his side and Hunk drags his own chair over to Keith and sinks down into it.

“You look tired,” Keith mutters, half into his own drink.

“You wouldn’t think it to look at him but Lance is a loud sleeper.” At Keith’s raised eyebrow Hunk waves vaguely in the direction of the camper van. “He doesn’t snore or anything but he talks. It would be funny if it wasn’t so distracting.”

“I thought you guys were roommates, aren’t you used to this?”

“Nah.” Hunk takes a sip of his own coffee. “Housemates not roommates; I love him but if I had to overhear constant ongoing commentary about his dreams all the time I would have helped Pidge murder him agues ago.”

Keith snorts, almost choking on his drink. “That bad, huh,” he says dryly.

Hunk shrugs. “If nothing else it’s good blackmail material.”

This time Keith actually barks out a laugh. It's short and sharp and makes the others look up briefly in surprise. 

“No seriously, some of its gold. _‘Oh princess, come into my arms and I shall spirit you away’_.” Hunk’s impression of Lance is both scarily spot on and also pitched only for Keith’s ears; the others across the fire don’t even look up.

Once Keith manages to swallow the laughter trying to claw its way out of his chest he asks, “Princess?”

Hunk sends a pointed look towards Allura. 

“Huh.” Keith cocks his head to the side and then shrugs. “Thats sweet I guess?”

“Definitely could have been way worse,” Hunk agrees. “Though if you do hear knocking on your tent in the middle of the night, it's just me.” 

“Looking for a place to sleep or in need of help to hide a body,” Keith asks.

“Hopefully the former.” Hunk pauses and then a smile spreads across his face—its a little like looking into the sun. “Aww, you’d help me hide a body?”

Hunk seemed inordinately pleased by that for some reason—his eyes were misty and Keith was positive that if this was a cartoon then there would be sparkles. 

Keith’s hands fidget around his mug. “I guess?” he says hesitantly but also truthful.

“Thats the nicest thin—or actually its kinda awful I guess but man, Keith—” Hunk stops mid sentence and then wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and hugs. 

It’s a bit awkward—the chair arms between them dig into Keith’s side a little as he’s yanked closer and he hears Kosmo make a disgruntled noise as the sudden movement disturbs him. Keith thinks he feels a bit of his coffee spill over the rim of his mug and for a second he can’t breathe, face smushed against Hunk’s yellow and green jacket. 

It still feels good somehow though. Hunk is warm and his grip isn’t tight enough that Keith couldn’t get out of it if he didn’t want to. It lingers for a few seconds and then releases before it crosses the line from comforting into uncomfortable.

Hunk pats him gently on the shoulder and then takes his mostly finished coffee from his hands before stooping down to pick up the bowl Kosmo had been eating out of. 

“Guess we should probably get ready to head off,” Hunk announces, coughing lightly. 

Keith blinks up at him. 

The others make sounds of agreement—though not overly enthusiastic to Keith’s ears—and slowly the camp begins to break up.

The woods are damp, air heavy under the looming branches and mist continues to linger in places, swirling gently in the eddies coming off the breeze high above. The bark of the trees is dark where its wet and the foliage is green and lush despite how grey the lighting remains. 

It takes about an hour before the weather turns, the fine mist from the previous day returning.

“If it doesn’t stop raining sometime soon I’m going to loose an entire layer of skin,” Lance grumbles. “It’s just going to slough right off my body and no-one wants that, you hear me? No one.”

“Consider it extreme exfoliation,” Pidge snarks back and Keith huffs out a laugh as he ducks under a low hanging branch. 

Keith got it though—the water in the air wasn’t falling, just merely seemed to exist around them while sometimes drifting vaguely downwards. It was pervasive, and if he hadn’t been wearing the right clothes then Keith would have had it seeping in, right down to his skin.

They continue onwards, leaf litter and dead plant matter crunching under their feet. Kosmo trotted ahead, stopping to sniff every now and then, coat glimmering with fine water droplets in the low light—stars studded across velvet.

In the distance he could hear the faintest sound of running water. There was a creek that ran close to where his old home was; he knew that it snaked its way through the forest and down towards the canyon—somewhere beyond them was one of its meandering bends.

Ahead the trees parted ever so slightly and Kosmo slipped ahead into the small clearing. A boulder sat half sunken into the soil, nestles in amongst the ferns growing around its edges and carpeted in thick moss.

They all gathered around the centre of the tiny clearing, sipping at their water. Hunk handed out snack bars and they all chewed in silence for about ten minutes before Pidge spoke up.

“So,” she said around a mouthful. “Are we just going to walk around and hope we stumble onto something or is there a way to attract them?”

Everyone looked to Lance who froze, mid bite.

“Why are you all looking at me?”

“Well, you are the one whose idea this whole thing was,” Pidge said dryly. A bead of water dripped down her glasses. “Did you pick up any tips or tricks from those shows you watched.”

“Uhh…” Lance stood frozen for a second, eyes flickering between them all, lingering on Allura for a second longer than the rest. “Well most of the time the Bigfoot hunters in the show set up traps, like with actual meat.”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Keith says, frowning. “You’re more likely to get a cougar than a Bigfoot.”

“And you wouldn’t know that how,” Lance snarks at him, before deflating. “But you’re probably right and I really don’t want to get eaten by the local wildlife. Thats not how I die.”

Hunk shuddered. “I second that.”

“Motion carried then,”Allura says with a faint smirk. “So what’s the next best plan?”

Lance squinted off into the distance. “What if we try calling it?”

Pidge and Allura share a look. “You try calling it,” Pidge suggests, arms folding across her chest. The grin on her face is mildly disconcerting. 

Lance looks down at her and sniffs. “Fine. Sure. I can do that, I can definitely do that.”

He shrugs off his pack and hands it to Hunk who take it without a word. Strolling towards the boulder, he clambers onto a small section only about a little ways off the ground but tall enough that he’s now a head above Hunk. Sitting beside the boulder, Kosmo is looking up at him with an expression of bewilderment that probably mirrors Keith’s own pretty closely.

“This’ll be good,” Pidge whispers. “All right,” she says louder, “Do it.” 

Lance clears his throat and then raises his hands to cup his mouth.

The stillness of the woods around them is shattered by the crescendoing call Lance makes into the gloom. It seems to echo for a bit and everything is silent once it fades. Kosmo’s ears are pricked in alarm and Keith had to work to keep his eyebrow from hiding itself amongst his hairline. 

They all stand, motionless, listening intently to the trees around them. 

There’s the twitter of a bird from somewhere nearby, likely startled by the sound but otherwise, nothing at all.

Lance sighs, heavy and disappointed and hops down from the boulder, feet almost slipping on the wet ground. Hunk catches him, handing him back his pack and Pidge chortles.

“Well if it’s any consolation you look like an idiot.”

“Thank you Katie,” he says through gritted teeth and then winces as he gets a smack to the arm.

“So what now,” Hunk asks.

“Keep walking?” Allura suggests. “I suppose there’s nothing we can really do until we find a clue that points us in the right direction. Or any direction really.”

“I don’t suppose your dogs has any secret tracking abilities?” Lance turns to look at Keith as fixes a strap on his pack.

“To track what?” Keith asks. “It’s not like we have a scent to follow, nothing that says Bigfoot This way.”

“Of course not,” Lance sighs. “What about you, do you have any special tracking abilities?”

“Why would I have special tracking abilities?” Keith asks.

Lance opens his mouth to say something when Pidge whacks him int he arm again, harder this time.

“Ow! Pidge will you quite it—”

“Okay,” Hunk says loudly. “Time to go before it rains any harder.”

“I don’t really think this counts as rain,” Allura says, brushing strands of wet hair back from her face. 

Like Hunk’s words were prophetic, not long after they set off again the heavy mist shifts into actual rain. It doesn’t last long but it's enough to have them huddling under a gnarled tree, it's sheltering branches stooped with age and woven thick enough above them to keep the worst of it off them. It doesn’t last long but the ground below their feet has softened, plant life littering the ground turning it into a dangerously slick mess.

Keith presses a foot against the soil and watches as his boot sinks in past the tread and he grimaces. 

“I think we should head back for now,” he announces, lifting his boot back up. The soil clings like its trying to keep him there. “The trail gets tougher up ahead and I don’t want to walk it when the ground’s like this.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Pidge says with a grimace. She takes her glasses off to wipe them down. “I feel like I went swimming while wearing clothes.”

It takes twice as long for Keith to lead them back the way they came, having to double back on occasion to avoid areas where the ground had turned into slick mud and decomposing plant matter. 

The rain had stopped but water dripped from the laden branches above them, enough that it was like the rain hadn’t ceased at all. The air was dense amongst the trees, thick like he could choke on it if he wasn’t careful. They curved further west and a sudden feeling of wrongness, skittered down his spine. Keith slowed and the hair along his arms rose. 

Keith had felt watchful eyes on him since the first day they arrived—almost since the very moment he had stepped into the trees.

It hadn’t felt like this.

Carefully Keith pulled away from the others, though he made sure to keep them within eyesight. Up ahead Kosmo was stopped at the base of a tree and Keith came up beside him and hand already reaching out to run through his fur.

Keith froze as Kosmo rumbled once and fell silent. His ears were pinned back, hackles raised ever so slightly but it was the intensity of his stare—yellow eyes fixed off somewhere in the gloom, beyond what he can see—that sends his heart beating into overtime. He looks into the thick press of trees and for a second he thinks he sees something move—a figure maybe, dark and lurking.

The moment lasts for a second, it stretches and lingers and and is broken suddenly by the cry of his name. 

“Keith! You coming or what? You’re the one who’s leading us out of here!”

Keith blinks and the shadow is gone and Kosmo is ever so slowly relaxing.

He clears his throat. “Yeah,” he calls back, “I’m coming.”

xXx

Day three is different. 

On day three they find something and then something finds them. 

Wakefulness comes slowly and then all at once for Keith, the faded edges of his dream already slipping away like so much smoke. He remembers running through the trees, snatches of his dads voice— _“Houses can have strong hearts if you love 'em enough kit”_ —and the familiar sound of branches creaking under a strong wind. 

The strong wind turns out to be real. 

Keith stares blearily up at the roof of his tent. It's grey outside, sunlight breaking through in waves, there and gone again as the cloud cover moved rapidly across the sky. He could hear the wind whistle through the trees, leaves and grass a sibilant chorus broken only by the creak of wood. 

Reluctantly he digs himself out from his sleeping bag, Kosmo huffing slightly at the noise, and dresses quickly, shivering in the chilled morning air. He slips on his jacket and unzips the tent and steps outside and immediately goes back in to get his jacket. 

He’s the first one up following the pattern set by the previous few days. Its less than an hour after sunrise and the air still carries the chill of night and Keith has the sneaking suspicion that it’ll stay cool throughout the day. 

He goes about his morning routine, with only Kosmo for company. 

With a soft sigh, Keith sinks down onto one of the wooden benches, munching absently on one of the home bad bars Hunk had given to him. Kosmo meanders over and flops at his feet. 

The wind is whispering through the trees and there’s a strange quiet hanging over their campsite. The forests green was washed out in greys, the gloom beneath the heavy boughs of a darker sort than the previous days.

The air felt...heavy in a way Keith couldn't pinpoint. In the distance he could hear the beginnings of birdsong and if he strained he could catch the faint sounds of animal life rustling through the underbrush. It was quiet though, like they didn't want to be heard. 

There was a commotion behind him. Keith contained his flinch and Kosmo’s ears pricked. He turned in time to catch the others stumbling out of their camper vans one by one. 

Hunk and Allura waved at him while Pidge stumbled her way to the closest seating and dropped onto it with a groan. Keith looked at her, raised an eyebrow and then looked at Allura. 

“Late night,” she explained with a soft laugh. “I told her to put away the phone but something must have caught her attention and, well...” she gestured at the lump of green and glasses and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“She’ll be fine.” Hunk meanders over, three mugs wisping steam into the morning air. “She’ll be slightly more human after she gets some caffeine in her, though she might want to murder us all by midday.”

“Being murdered in the woods, sounds about right,” Lance complains, walking up and bumping shoulders with Hunk. He reaches for one of the mugs only to look betrayed when Hunk moves them beyond his grasp and finally hands two of them off to Allura and Keith. 

“So who’s murdering us,” he asks, pouting as he watches the three of them sip at their coffee. 

“Pidge,” Keith replies. 

“Ohhh.” They all turn to look at her. “Well, i’ll just make sure to keep one of you between me and her then.”

“You admitting that you’d be the one to drive her to murder?” Keith asks. 

Lance shrugs, hands raising slightly. “A) she hates morning people and b) she’s been telling me that she’s gonna kill me since the day we met. Honestly i’d be concerned if two weeks passed without the thread of bodily harm from her.”

“That is true,” Hunk muses lightly. “The one time when I don’t remember her threatening to strangle you for more than a week was when Matt’s appendix burst.”

Lance winces. “Yeah that was not a fun time.”

“Matt?” Keith questions. 

“Pidge’s older brother.” Allura sips at her coffee, ignoring Lance’s longing gaze. Keith isn't sure if its meant for the coffee or Allura or both. “Brilliant like the rest of the family and another good friend, he would have been here too if he didn’t have a time sensitive project he was working on.” Her eyes flickered over Keith. “I think you’d like him.”

Beside him, Hunk nods in agreement. 

Keith hums, noncommittal. He doesn't like most people but so far Hunk’s been right four times so he figures he should give them the benefit of the doubt. 

“Where’s your uncle,” Keith asks instead. 

Allura gestures towards the van Coran had claimed as his own. “Looking for a book, I believe, though what about i’m a little unsure.”

Keith shrugged, easily accepting. 

“So,” he says after a moment, “We have breakfast, get ready and then go?”

Lance sent one last longing look towards Allura’s coffee before turning to Keith with a sigh. “Thats the plan anyway.” He runs a hand through his hair, tousling the brown locks. “Hope it doesn’t rain again today.”

“Agreed,” Allura says with a soft frown. “It’s fine for a few moments but it’s cool enough today that I’m worried we’ll get sick if we lingered in it like we did before.”

Keith takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky. The clouds were still there with no sign of dissipating but— “It doesn’t smell like rain.”

“Really,” Lance says, “Thats what you’re going with?”

Hunk jabbed Lance in the arm and the, to Lance’s delight, handed over his still half full mug. “The nose knows. I’ll get Pidge her caffeine and see what her weather app says, but I’m pretty sure it’ll just back up Keith’s prediction.”

Hunk breaks away from their small group and Keith and Allura watch him go while Lance buries his face in his newly acquired coffee. 

“Well,” Allura begins. “I’ll go tell Coran our plans.”

Keith nods. “I’m going to pack.”

Lance snorts into his cup. “You say that as if you aren’t ready to wander off into the wilderness 24/7.”

Keith shrugs. “Can’t hurt to double check.”

“Whatever you say, mountain man.” Lance sends him a sloppy salute and then turns on his heel, wandering over to where Hunk was carefully placing another steaming mug in front the green lump that was Pidge. 

“Mountain man?” Keith blinks, looking over at Allura in bewilderment. 

She merely smiles at him, bends to give Kosmo a scratch before patting him on the shoulder and walking away.

xXx

Keith can feel the change as soon as he steps into the tree line. It’s quiet, is the first thing he notices, proper quiet unlike before—no birdsong, no sounds of small animals moving about the undergrowth. The feeling of being watched isn’t back but in its place is a feeling of anticipation, like the forest is holding its breath. 

Kosmo sticks close to him as they get deeper and deeper into the trees. The others trailing behind him grow quiet very quickly as they pick up on the atmosphere. He find himself reaching back multiple times to check that his knife is still there and he sticks closer to the rest of the group than he has in the last two days. 

It’s Allura who notices the tracks first. Keith zero’s in on the slight sound of surprise she makes and is at her side in an instant. He freezes when he sees what she had noticed first. 

A large footprint in the ground. 

Keith kneels beside it, frowning. The soil below them was softened by the rain but there were no other tracks beside the one which was…odd. It was only a partial but Keith could tell that the full thing would be far larger than any person. 

“What is it?” Pidge asks, leaning to look over his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Keith admits. “Maybe a bear but…” He trails off, frowning harder.

“There are bears out here?” Lance says, sounding alarmed. He looks about them as if expecting one to come lumbering out of the trees around them. 

Pidge snorts and punches him lightly in the arm. “Of course there are bears in here,” she says. “I’m more interested in the ‘but’ part of that sentence.”

“Me too,” Allura chimes in. “Keith?” She prods.

Keith just shrugs. “I don’t know exactly. Just these don’t look exactly like any bear tracks I’ve ever seen.” He stands back up, running a hand over Kosmo’s head. “But it’s only a partial print so I could be wrong.”

“We should still document it,” Allura says, tugging her camera out. 

“Agreed.” Lance nods to himself and then poke at Hunk. “You have the casting stuff?” At Hunk’s nod, Lance snaps a finger. “Okay Allura, Pidge you two take pictures and video. Hunk, my man, you help me with the plaster.” 

Keith lets them do as they please, drifting off just a bit so he’s not in their way. At Keith’s urging, Kosmo stays with the others, standing guard. 

He’s looking off into the distance, not really focusing on anything in particular when he hears the faintest snap of a branch somewhere in the trees. He straightens out of his slouch, suddenly completely alert as he scans his surroundings. It had come from somewhere relatively close by and the longer he looks the more the prickling sensation at the nape of his neck grows.

They’re being watched. 

Keith doesn’t move, just waits silently. It feels the same as the day of their arrival; not threatening but curious. A minute passes, then five, then ten and the only sounds he hears are the others talking amongst themselves as they collect their evidence and Kosmo’s doggy pants. 

“Done,” comes Allura’s lilting voice, satisfied and the others cheer. 

Keith turns back to look at them and out of the corner of his eye there’s a flash of movement. He spins, taking an aborted step forward, the urge to chase nipping at his heels before he comes to his senses. 

It had been light in colour whatever it was, big but eerily silent and there was no way of telling what way it had gone, or even if it had been something to begin with. 

Someone calls his name and as he returns to the group he can’t help but notice that it no longer felt like he was being watched. 

“It really is…well, big.” Hunk comments, eyeing their cast with a critical eye. 

Lance slouches against his side, one hand clasped around Hunk’s shoulder and the other holding an empty container for the cast. 

“You know what they say about big feet,” he says with waggling eyebrows. 

“Big monster.” Keith says with a straight face. 

He watches Lance’s face contort itself briefly over his ruined joke and shares an amused look over his head with Hunk. 

The group, energised by the discovery of the track, decides to press on for as long as they can before the failing daylight forces them to turn back. They trek down a ridge that Keith remembers and stumble into a clearing that he doesn’t. They stop for a quick water break and Keith is in the process of capping his water and stowing it back in his bag when Kosmo growls. 

The sound is startling in and of itself. Kosmo is a quiet dog and Keith can count the number of times he’s heard him growl on one hand. They all go quiet and look at Kosmo. His fur is bristling slightly, his yellow eyes fixed off to the left of Keith. 

Keith drops his back and turns, following his line of sight and then freezes. 

“Hello there,” the hulking man at the edge of the clearing says. 

“Oh fuck—uhh, I mean hi.” Lance sounds just as startled as Keith feels. 

The man lumbers forward and Keith can see two others who remain standing just out of clear sight. In the dying light Keith can tell that the man is dressed like a hunter—weatherbeaten clothes, heavy duty pack and boots and he can see the imprint of something that might be a gun under his vest which makes something in Keith clench. 

There isn’t meant to be any actual hunting in this forest. His dad had always told him that.

The man stops just before them and stares. Keith’s skin crawls and Kosmo edges closer to him, pressing against his thigh. The man looks down at him and Keith has to resist the urge to bare his teeth at the look on the man’s face as he takes in Keith’s dog. It looks like interest. It looks like hunger. 

That thought makes no sense but it’s an impression that sticks with him as the man introduces himself to the group. 

Sendak. His name is Sendak.

The name tugs at something—a thought, a memory—but as soon as he tries to grab at it, its slips away from him. 

Keith doesn’t pay a huge amount of attention as Sendak talks to the others, mainly Lance. He’s too busy keeping an eye on the other two hunters lurking in the shadows, too busy keeping an eye on Sendak’s hands every time they stray too close to whatever he has hidden under his vest. 

“Excuse me,” Sendak’s voice interrupts Lance. It’s directed at Keith but his eyes a fixed on Kosmo. 

“What.” Keith grits out. 

Sendak’s eyes don’t flicker and Keith can feel the subvocal growls Kosmo is making where they’re pressed together. “ What kind of dog is that?” 

The question is polite and Keith is instantly on edge. 

“He’s a wolf-dog,” Keith answers, slowly.

“Really,” Sendak murmurs and it doesn’t sound like a question.

Keith’s lip curls. “Really,” he replies flatly. He turns to Lance. “We gotta go, daylights wasting.”

Keith scoops up his pack and the others scramble to follow his lead. Kosmo clings to his side almost and Keith isn’t ashamed to admit the way he keeps a hand buried in his ruff to reassure himself. 

“Wait.”

The others slow to a stop and Keith grits his teeth. He turns, reluctant, and is gratified to see that Allura and Hunk’s expressions are at least slightly suspicious. 

Sendak smiles at them and it feels like a threat. “You said that you were hunting,” he enquires politely. “Hunting what, may I ask?”

“Bigfoot,” Lance replies before Keith can say anything. 

“Ahh.” Sendak tilts his head to the side, intent. “Have you found anything?” 

There’s a thread of amusement in his voice, like he’s asking as a joke but his eyes are flat and Keith can feel the hair on his arms raise. 

“No.” Keith cuts in before anyone else can say anything. “No, we haven’t found anything.”

Sendak looks Keith dead in the eyes. “Thats a shame,” he says sincerely. 

“Yeah, it’s a real tragedy.” Keith holds his gaze. “Do you know it’s illegal to hunt in these woods?” He asks, just throwing it out there to see what happens. 

Sendak shifts slightly and so do the others, still hiding in the trees. “You’re hunting though?”

“With guns,” Keith clarifies even though he knows he doesn’t need to. He senses more than sees the others startle behind him but he doesn’t look at them, just keeps his eyes on the men in front of him. “It’s illegal to hunt with guns in these woods.”

Sendak hums. “Well if we run into anyone with guns we’ll be sure to tell them.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

Abruptly Keith has had enough of the situation and it appears so has Sendak. They hold the look for a few seconds longer when Sendak finally huffs and breaks the gaze. With barely another look at them, he turns and melts back into the forest, his two lackeys following.

Keith waits for a minute, shushing Hunk when he starts to say something but Keith stays stock still until Kosmo, still pressed up against him, finally relaxes.

“What, “ Lance asks, “the fuck was that about.”

“We didn’t like him,” Keith mutters. 

“Dogs do know best,” Pidge agrees, pushing her glasses up. “Kosmo definitely hated him.”

“He did seem a tad suspicious.” From her voice, Allura sounded like she though he was more than just a tad suspicious. 

“Hey Keith,” Hunk asked, hesitant. “Did he really have a gun?”

The others grow quiet when Keith nods. 

“Well shit,” Lance mutters and Keith snorts. 

“Yup,” he agrees and beside him Kosmo huffs in agreement. 

Keith herds the others together and out of the clearing, back the way they came. Keith falls back as they go, trusting Allura to keep them on the path back home and spares his energy to keep an eye out around them. It doesn’t feel like they’re being followed but he doesn’t want to stake their lives on a feeling. Not that he’s a hundred percent certain that Sendak is a threat to their lives, exactly but…it’s a feeling he can’t shake. 

Staring down Sendak had felt like staring down a dangerous animal—no worse, he amends. It felt like staring down the worst people he ever met while in the system.

Animals he could deal with but people could be a special kind of evil and Sendak gave off those feelings in waves. 

They make good time and soon enough they come up on the area Keith recognises as where they found the footprint. He slows, chewing on his lip and when Hunk calls out to him he waves them on. 

It only takes a second for Keith to double back a bit, looking for the tree they’d found the print under and it’s takes no effort at all for Keith to drag his own foot right though it, scuffing it out and erasing it from existence. 

As he makes his way back to the rest of the group, his neck prickles. 

xXx

They get back to the campsite just as the sun dips below the horizon. Coran is bustling about, preparing food for them when they all spill into the open air. Keith goes to stow his bag away and when he comes back the others are filling Coran in on what happened while they were out in the woods.

His eyes practically sparkle as he takes in the cast and looks through the photos while they all sit and eat. The sparkle goes away when Lance gets to the part about Sendak.

A hard look falls over his face when he’s filled in about the encounter and he sits back, a hand tugging at his moustache in a way that Keith assumes is a nervous tick.

“Did they really have guns,” he enquires at Keith and Keith grunts out a yes in-between mouthfuls of food. 

Coran hums and gives a particularly violent tug at his moustache. “Unsavoury types,” he mutters half to himself. “Hunting in a no hunting zone.”

“It’s more the fact that they were concealing the guns that worries me,” Keith says, sharing a piece of meat with Kosmo. “Did any of you even notice until I said anything?”

A chorus of no’s comes from the group except for Allura. “It was that odd line of his vest wasn’t it.” At Keith’s nod she continues. “I did notice it but I wasn’t entirely sure.” A look of unease crosses her face. “How many were there?”

“At least two more off in the tree line other than Sendak. Not sure if there were others that I couldn’t see.”

“You said he was asking about what you’re doing here?” Coran questions.

“Yeah,” Lance says with a frown. “Got really pushy about it too. Not to mention his weird fascination with Kosmo.”

Keiths hand drifts down to scratch between Kosmo’s ears. “Yeah,” he mutters darkly, “and that.”

“Oh?” Coran looks at him eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, he wanted to know what kind of dog Kosmo was,” Hunk chimes in, frowning. “Seemed really intent on getting an answer for some reason too.” He sounds angry a bit, on his behalf or Kosmo’s, Keith isn’t sure but he appreciates the sentiment. 

“And then,” Pidge picks up, “Keith tried to get us to leave but Sendak stopped us again by asking about Bigfoot.” She leans forward, chin planted on her raised knee. “Seemed really interested in whether or not we found something and not in a fun way either.”

“No,” Allura agrees grimly. “No he seemed…”

“Hungry,” Keith murmurs, softly. 

“…Yes…” Allura says after a moment, eyes pinched. “Yes, that’s exactly how he seemed.”

“Do you think he’s out here hunting Bigfoot?” Lance asks, looking around at them. “I got that vibe about him before when he was askin’ questions.” 

“Hunting Bigfoot with a gun though?” Hunk says. “Do people really do that?”

“Oh yes,” Coran huffs. “It happens more often than you’d think when people go out looking for cryptids. Deplorable business,” he says with a shake of his head, “going out to find something unique with the express purpose of killing it.”

“Didn’t you say that your grandfather took a shot at a Yeti once,” Pidge asks dryly.

Coran gasps, a hand flying to his chest. “With a camera, not a gun!” He exclaims. “He tried to take a shot of him with a _camera._ Hieronymus Wimbelton Smythe would never have tried to _kill_ such a creature.”

Pidge holds her hands up in surrender. “Got it.” 

“Regardless,” Allura cuts in with a quick smile. “I think we should be cautious going forward. We don’t know Sendak’s motives but we can all agree that he’s a suspicious character at best.”

There are nods all around and then the conversation switches to lighter topics. The fires is burning low when the others begin to drift off to their respective trailers, Hunk and Lance to one, Pidge and Allura to another with Coran taking the last one. 

Keith stays sitting in the dying light for a bit longer, Kosmo’s at his side warmer than the embers in front of him. The night air is cool and sweet and he hums quietly to himself as he pokes at the embers with a stick. 

The very thought of Sendak sent a bolt of revulsion through him, far stronger than their brief encounter warranted. He’d met plenty of people he disliked for various reasons over the years but none had inspired such an immediate and visceral reaction. Keith trusted his gut, and more than that he trusts Kosmo’s instincts.

As he goes about banking and dousing the fire he can’t help but think that he made a good choice in destroying the foot print. He doesn’t know if it was from a bear or something far stranger but Keith hates the thought of anything loosing its life to that man. 

Keith slips into his tent, Kosmo trailing in after him to curl up beside him. It's easy to fall into a light doze with the warm press of him against his back.

He has a restless sleep that night—old memories blending with dreams. 

He lays like that, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness until a sound outside his tent sends adrenaline coursing through his veins. He jolts, heart rabbiting in his chest but everything is silent aside from the normal nightly wildlife and Kosmo is still happily asleep, paws twitching lightly as he chases something in his dreams. 

Keith takes his hand off his knife, hidden away under his pillow and puts his head back down, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

xXx

He wakes with the sun before all the others and crawls his way to the tent opening, eyes blurry and neck prickling. He’s still half asleep as he sits there, half in and half out of the tent and it takes a few seconds for him to notice the three rocks, stacked expertly in a tower just in front of the flap. 

Keith stares and then rubs his eyes hard enough to see stars, but when he opens them again the rocks are still there. 

They’re round and smooth, like river stones. He sits up to look at them from the top and he can see the grass below them though the holes that runs through the three of them.

Hag stones, his mind supplies, sounding oddly like an echo of his dads voice. 

Keith looks around him, half expecting to see the others recording him for his reaction. A prank, he thinks but it’s not with any amount of conviction. Briefly he thinks about taking a photo or calling one of the others but something stays the impulse. 

There’s a shuffling sound behind him and then a furry nose is poking its way out under his arm. Kosmo goes still when he notices the stones and Keith shifts to let him edge forward until he can sniff at the little tower. Whatever he smells mustn’t bother him because he merely sneezes, yips quietly and then licks a stripe right up the side of Keith’s face.

Keith watches as he pushes his way out of their tent, being careful of the stones. He shakes himself while Keith watches, absently rubbing at the wet streak on his face.

When he’s done Kosmo yawns, teeth flashing like knives and then he stills, ears pricking forward and tail wagging. He trots back over to the tent and sniffs at a patch of ground just off to the side of the tent where Keith had been sleeping last night. 

Twisting to look, Keith see’s the faintest indentation in the ground. 

Another partial footprint. 

Instantly he’s thinking about when he woke up the previous night to the sound of something moving outside the tent. It had been a small noise so he’d dismissed it as nothing, especially when it hadn’t woken Kosmo up but the footprint in front of him is…big. Like the one they’d made a cast of the day before. 

When he looks up Kosmo is watching him, tongue lolling out in a doggy smile. A few seconds go by where they’re just staring at each other and then Kosmo huffs, stretches and he’s off, milling about the camp. Keith watches him for a bit and then he lets himself sit back on his heels and thinks.

Whatever it was hadn’t tried to harm him or anyone else. When he’d woken up he’d felt tense and surprised from the shock of suddenly being conscious but he hadn’t felt threatened and neither had Kosmo. 

Instead whatever it was had snuck into the camp and…left him rocks?

One has something that might be quartz running through it, smokey and grey, and the other two are dark and shiny. His hands itch to hold them, to feel the weight of them in his palms. 

He shuffles forward and then, looking around him like a nervous child, he plucks the first one off the pile. It cool and heavy with a smooth grain and he brings it up to his eye to look through the hole. 

Sunlight distorts slightly as he focuses through the stone. The camp is still quiet, dew shining on the grass and Kosmo must have been rolling in it because his fur glimmers slightly under the weak morning light, dewdrops clinging to his dark fur.

Keith drops his hand, looks down at the stone in his palm and huffs, running a finger over the smooth surface. After a second spent just admiring it, he picks up the other two, turning them over and inspecting them. He likes them, he thinks and he can’t stop the small smile that clings to the corners of his lips. 

He ducks back into his tent and scrambles to get changed. When he steps out of the tent completely, Kosmo is waiting for him, panting happily. He ruffles his ears and then jogs over to his truck and slides into the front seat and begins rooting about the glove compartment. 

Papers, sunglasses, a bag of sour lollies…there!

He pulls out the tangled length of leather chord and uses his knife to cut off a piece of it.

He heads back to the tent and sits down in the entrance way, Kosmo watching him, head cocked to the side and curious. Keith puts the stones down in front of him and considered them carefully. 

The two dark ones are slightly bigger but his eyes are continuously drawn back to the grey one in the centre. He picks it up and goes about trying it to the leather and then once its secure and the ends are tied together, he hangs it about his neck and tucks it under his shirt. 

It rests against the centre of his chest, cool and smooth and pleasantly weighty.

As the sounds of the others stirring reaches him, Keith tucks away the other two securely in an inside pocket of his pack along with the leather. He stand up, taking the time to stretch, back cracking as he twists. As he goes to get the fire started for Coran and Hunk, he freezes mid-step. 

He only realises it now that the sensation is absent, but the feeling of being watched is gone.


	2. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delicate pink grows in dense patches across the forest floor. They peek out at him from the gaps between tree roots, vibrant against the dark wood.

Day four starts off sunny in direct contrast to the general mood. 

Keith’s quiet happiness at his find (at the gift, a traitorous corner of his mind whispers) dissipates as the events of yesterday come back. The others are quieter than they have been, more serious, and Allura is hunched over a sketchpad with Coran looking over her shoulder. 

“She’s drawing Sendak,” Lance says, coming up behind his shoulder. “You know, just in case Coran needs to tell the police what he looks like if we all mysteriously go missing in the woods.”

Keith snorts. “Smart.” He takes a sip of the coffee Hunk had handed him earlier. “So we’re still going out?”

Lance nods. “Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ but his tone is still surprisingly serious. “We found something yesterday man. Like I know you said it might be a bear but my gut is telling me otherwise.” He pauses, something surprisingly insightful in the air about him. “I think you think so too.” 

Keith looks at him out of the corner of his eye, thinks about the stone under his shirt, and then nods slowly in agreement. “What are you hoping for?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I do know that I want to find it before Sendak and his cronies do.”

Keith barks out a laugh, startling Lance. “Petty,” he says with a sharp grin. “I like that.” 

Lance claps him on the shoulder. “Thought you would.”

Keith knocks back the last of his coffee and makes to go put the cup away when Lance snatches it out of hand. 

“I’ll do that, I gotta talk to Pidge anyway.” 

“Okay,” Keith says slowly, squinting at him. “You need me to do anything before we go or…”

Lance just waves him off. “Nah, go commune with nature or whatever it is you do.”

“Commune with nature?” Keith questions, mildly incredulous.

Lance turns, walking backwards, and shooting him finger guns. “You’re the resident mountain man, go tune your sixth sense and get ready to keep us alive out in the woods.”

Then he trips.

Keith leaves him on the ground and goes to find Kosmo. 

Pack ready and waiting for when he needs it, Keith spends the better part of half an hour sitting by Kosmo’s side, watching the trees—not conferring with nature, he thinks, pointedly ignoring the thumbs up Lance shoots him—but just…enjoying the view. 

Aside from a metallic bang and the sounds of Pidge swearing like a sailor, its peaceful. The others are quiet enough that it all fades to background noise and he can sit there, leaning against Kosmo’s side, just watching.

Their campsite is in a field, surrounded on three sides by the woods and the grass in front of him is swaying gently in the breeze. He can see butterflies ducking in and out of the long grass and every now and then he catches a glimpse of something small running about. There are birds singing in the trees.

The loud CRACK comes from somewhere far to the west of their campsite.

Instantly Keith is on his feet, Kosmo bristling at his side, ears pricked. The others are frozen mid-task.

“What was that,” Hunk asks nervously.

Keith steps closer to them, frowning. “Could have been a tree falling,” he says, doubtfully. 

“I’m sensing another ‘but’ there,” comes Pidge.

“But it could have been something else,” supplies Coran, stepping up beside Keith, tugging at his moustache. “Could have been a gunshot.”

“Wouldn’t that have been louder,” Lance questions.

“Might have silencers,” Keith says.

“Would we have heard that then?” Lance asks, looking about him.

Pidge just shakes her head. “Thats not how silencers work. They make them quieter than an unsuppressed shot but not like in the movies.”

Coran hums. “Yes, it’s more about blocking the muzzle flash and muffing the sound just enough that it could be mistaken for something else.” He clucks his tongue. “Also, in small spaces it prevents permanent hearing damage.”

“Huh, I’m learning so much on this trip,” Lance murmurs. 

“Isn’t that the whole point,” Allura says teasingly, coming up to Coran, proffering the sketchpad as she does. “Here, this is Sendak.”

Keith looks over at the sketch and is impressed. He’s a fair hand at sketching, especially plants and animals, but his preference is in metalwork. 

“Nice,” he tells her and she smiles happily. 

Coran twirls the edge of his moustache as he regards the sketch, pulls out his phone and then snaps a picture of it for good measure. “Just in case,” he says cheerfully.

He takes the sketch and puts it inside his camper van while the others finish up packing. 

Keith is shouldering his pack when the others come over to him, ready to go. 

“So,” Hunk starts. “I feel like, on the off chance that was a gunshot, we should maybe head in the opposite direction today?” He looks around himself and the others, including Keith, nod.

“So which way?” Allura asks. “I confess that the idea of being as far away from Sendak as possible is very appealing to me.”

“So east then?” Lance asks but Pidge shakes her head.

“East of here is private land I think,” she says, unaware of the way Keith stiffens. “Not sure where the property line is and I don’t know if we’ll just get a shotgun in our face if we cross into it—”

“It’s fine,” Keith cuts in. He doesn’t look up at them, instead pretending to fuss with one of the straps on his bag. “We’re allowed onto the private land.”

“And you know this how?” Lance asks, eyes narrowed.

“I just do.” Keith looks up at them all. “I’m the resident mountain man,” Keith says dryly, “Would I lead you astray?” 

Lance stares at him for a few seconds, eyes narrowing further before he throws his hands up, narrowly missing walking Hunk in the face. “Fine!” he exclaims. “But if we get shot and die due to a crazy hermit person, then it’s your fault.”

xXx

They head off not long after, Keith in front leading the way. They walk for about an hour before Keith starts seeing things he recognises; a boulder his dad had pointed out once, denoting the start of their property line; a tree he had climbed once as a kid. 

There’s a lot he doesn’t recognise though, things having changed in the years since he’d last been here and it sends his stomach clenching. Once, he knew these trees like the back of his hand. Once he could have run through them blindfolded and found his way back home with ease.

He steers them deeper into the woods, circumventing the area where he thinks his old home is. He doesn’t want to see what it looks like now, after years and years with no one to look after it—doesn’t want to see what’s become of the personal effects he’d had to leave behind when he was taken away.

They walk until they came across a fallen tree. The wood was rotted away in some places but it was low enough to sit on and there was a hole in the canopy above them that let the midday sunlight through to the ground. Keith dug out a ration bar and some dog snacks while the others sat down.

He’s chewing on a relatively tasteless mouthful, just wandering around the little area that they’ve found themselves in when he finds the little flowers. He looks behind him at the rest of the group and they’re relaxed, chatting amongst themselves and, more importantly, they aren’t paying attention to him and they don’t look like they’re going to be ready to move for a while longer.

Keith sits down, legs crossed, drags his pack close to his side and digs through it until he finds a pencil and his notebook. He flips through it until he finds a blank page, sets it on his knees and then looks at the flowers. 

They’re largish, with blush coloured petals that softly turn into yellow towards their base and the anther is a dusky blue. They look delicate and he can’t help but reach out to run a finger across the edge of one; it’s soft, silky and he finds himself helplessly charmed.

He sketches the rounded main petals and the pointed sepals below them and finds himself wishing he had some way to colour the greyscale drawing. He’s so engrossed in his find that he doesn’t notice the soft footfalls walking up to him.

“A pink star tulip I believe.”

He jumps lightly and looks up at Allura and where she’s obsessing the flowers from over his head. 

“Star tulip,” he repeats.

She hums, crouching down beside him to get a better look. “Yes, which is odd because I don’t believe they’re from this area.” She leans forward a bit more. “Lovely colour.”

Keith finds himself nodding in agreement. “Caught my eye,” he admits.

“Oh?” She blinks and then looks down at the notebook on his lap. “Oh!” She repeats and then smiles. “Nice.” He ducks his head as his cheeks flush slightly. He doesn’t know the last time someone sincerely complemented one of his sketches. 

“Still,” she says as she helps him up. “Its odd that it’s here.” 

Keith dusts his legs off and shoulders his pack again. “Another mystery to add to the footprint, I guess.” 

“I suppose so,” he hears her murmur as he bends down to pat Kosmo on the head. 

He can see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye and she opens her mouth to ask him something, but is interrupted by a second CRACK back in the direction they’d come from. Kosmo jumps at his side and the conversation the other’s had been having dies off quickly as they all share startled glances.

Keith’s heart is loud in his ears as he strains to hear…something. A dying animal, a second bang— because he was certain now that it had been a gunshot— but there was nothing. Just silence.

Conversation amongst the others resumes slowly and Allura jogs over to say something too Hunk.

A quick glance tells him that the others are still taking a break so Keith wanders a bit further into the trees, leaving Kosmo luxuriating in a patch of sunlight. The dappled lighting dims slightly the further he walk and he doesn’t recognise where he is at first.

He’s standing in a small clearing, four towering trees bowing inwards to create a dense canopy. Their roots were twisted and it took a few careful steps to climb down them into the small open area in the centre. The ground was soft under his feet and like a ghost he can see himself, small and fleet-footed, running through the clearing, or curled up napping amongst the root. 

He couldn’t do that now, not without disturbing the flowers. 

Delicate pink grows in dense patches across the forest floor. They peek out at him from the gaps between tree roots, vibrant against the dark wood. The Star Tulips sway lightly in the breeze like they’re waving hello. 

He stares in quiet awe at the sight 

There’s a soft sound from behind him and then Kosmo is trotting over to Keith’s side. He sniffs at one of the closest flowers, and then sneezes, ruffling the petals and sending it bobbing back and forth.

Keith digs around in his pocket for his phone and then snaps a quick picture of one of the flowers caught in a shaft of sunlight— not for any real reason that he can justify to himself, other than its something pretty and he likes it.

There’s the sound of his name being called and Keith reluctantly turns away only to still a moment later.

There’s an odd play in the shadows on the bare soil by one of the trees and he ducks down to get a closer look.

It’s faded, partially filled in by leaf matter and shifted soil, but Keith recognises the footprint in the ground. 

There’s a brush of fur against his hand and he looks down at Kosmo who’s staring intently at the indentation. He blinks and then he’s staring down into intelligent yellow eyes.

There’s another call of his name, loud and impatient and the Keith is turning away, the two of them scurrying back to where the rest of the group is waiting for them.

They walk for an hour longer in the meandering route Keith has chosen, keeping a respectful distance between them and where Keith now knows the cabin is and then another along a gentle ridge. 

They’re walking down towards a creek bed when Keith spots the blood, jewel red and fresh, against the forests green. He frowns when he sees it looking about himself warily— an injured animal could be a danger and he didn’t want to accidentally lead the other into it.

Instead there was nothing, only silence. 

Complete silence. 

The hairs on Keith’s arms stood up.

He looks closer at the undergrowth the blood was smeared on and then at the surrounding area and it doesn’t take long for Keith to spot the oddities— broken twigs around chest height, patches of flattened grass and a rock that had been firmly pressed into the ground.

He follows the trail, careful, until he can hear the sounds of running water. He keeps an eye on his feet as he picks his way over a rotted tree trunk and a few damp rocks and there, leading into the water pressed into the soft damp soil, was a fully formed footprint, the water pooling amongst the rocks beside it a worrying pink.

“Hey guys,” he calls. He hears them, off behind him and further down. “Can you come here for a second?”

There’s the sound of multiple footsteps and then Allura’s head is peeking out from behind one of the trees, the first to reach him. Kosmo’s head pokes out at her hip, looking down at him. 

The two of them come up beside him and then still. 

“Oh my,” Allura breaths.

Keith stands back and watches as the others work. Pidge and Allura take photos and recordings of the footprint while Lance and Hunk work out the best way to take a cast in the damp soil.

Suddenly Pidge makes a noise. “Is that blood?” She asks, looking down at the rocks.

Keith nods. “There’s more back up top as well.”

“Show me,” she demands.

Keith leads her back to where he’d first found the smears of it and then gets out of her way as she pulls out a swab and a container. 

“This is going to be groundbreaking if we can actually a proper DNA sample from this,” she says, methodically collecting a bit of the blood. 

“Mmm.”

Pidge screws the cap on the container and then looks up at him, eyebrow raised. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic about that.”

Keith shrugs, arms crossed as he leans against a nearby tree, keeping an eye on the others and Kosmo down below. “Guess I’m more concerned why we’re finding blood.”

“You think Sendak…” She trails off. “Oh,” she says at the look he shoots her. “Ah. Okay, that’s fair.”

“Yeah.” Keith looks at the others and then lets his eyes drift to the opposite bank. 

If he crossed to the other side of the creak he wondered what he’d find— if he’d even be able to pick up the trail at all. And if he did what would he do if he eventually found what was at the end? 

Keith tried to picture himself stumbling across an injured animal and could easily work out the steps he’d take to keep himself and it safe. He tried to picture what he’d do if the trail ended at something different— at something unknown— and found that he couldn’t.

Who did you call to help something that wasn’t meant to exist? Would a Bigfoot even let him help?

If what he suspected happened really did then he wouldn’t judge a Bigfoot for wanting nothing to do with people but Keith already knew that he would have to do something. 

xXx

It’s dusk again when they get back to the camp and its another evening of watching the others regale Coran with stories about the day they’ve had. He’s endlessly fascinated by the photo’s Allura took of the full print but the concern he expresses at the blood sample is deeply gratifying to Keith.

Everyone goes to bed relatively early, leaving Keith, Kosmo and Coran sitting around the slowly dying fire.

“It’s a worrying thing, this business with Sendak and your Bigfoot,” Coran muses, looking into the fire.

Keith look up at him. “My Bigfoot?”

Coran chuckles. “Figure of speech.” He says and his eyes twinkle in the low light. “But I stand by what I said— knowing that there is indeed something out there and that someone is in fact hunting it— and doing so with some success at that— is deeply concerning.”

“Well you’re not wrong there,” Keith says with a sigh. “I just— what do we even do if we find an injured Bigfoot?”

“Perhaps go about it like you’ve found an very large injured man?”

“I’ll just whack some bandages on him and help him to the hospital, shall I?” Keith says, reluctantly amused.

Coran coughs, only just stifling a laugh. “Okay so perhaps not quite so literal but I’m sure the bandages would be appreciated. After all, it’s not like you would have found an animal. By all accounts a Bigfoot is just as much Man as it is Beast— they can understand us. I’m sure they’d know you were trying to help!” 

“You know a lot about Bigfoots do you,” Keith ask, amused and curious despite himself.

“Oh yes.” Coran twirls the end of his moustache and grins at him. “Why you could almost say that it’s a family legacy— the Smythes have a long history being interested in the obscure and unusual. My grandfather was a cryptozoologist and my grandmother used to work as a psychic when she didn’t help care for large animals.” 

At Keith’s raised eyebrow Coran laughs. “It’s how they met actually. A very long story I’m afraid, too long for me to start it now but oh, is it amazing.”

“You don’t say,” Keith replies with a small smile. “I’d like to hear it some day.”

“You’ll just have to come over one day for dinner,” Coran says. “All of you can if you want, we can make a real event out of it.”

“That sounds nice,” Keith admits softly. 

It really does. He doesn’t remember the last time someone made an honest offer like that aside from Hunk. Family dinners, telling stories— he hasn’t done that since his dad. In the foster homes and the group home the last place he’d ever wanted to be was surrounded by people like that, and that was on the off chance he was allowed too. 

Keith’s stomach pangs with phantom hunger. Sensing it, Kosmo whines and licks at his fingers and Keith looks away from Coran and focuses on running his hand through his fur. 

“He really is a remarkable creature,” Coran says softly. “Where did you say you got him?”

“At a shelter a few years ago.” Keith answers easily even as his lips twist. “They think he was dumped when he got too big. Then the shelter couldn’t find a place for him, and they were gonna put him down.”

“Until you found him.” Coran says.

“Until I found him,” Keith agrees.

He’d been lonely and tired when he’d found himself standing outside that shelter, not really knowing why he was there but reluctant to turn away all the same. When they’d asked if he wanted to meet the animals he’d said yes before he could really think about it and he’d wandered through row after row of dogs, sticking his fingers through the enclosures and petting at them.

Kosmo had been the last dog he’d seen that day and it was like something had quietly clicked into place, like he’d just found a piece of himself he didn’t know he was missing.

He’d gone back every day for three months, had scraped together every bit of spare cash he had— even gone hungry some nights just so he could save a little bit more— until he’d had enough money. He’d walked out of the shelter with him five days before Kosmo was due to be put down, no collar or dog bed, no toys ready but somehow he’d known that it would be fine.

That night he’s been warm as he slept for the first time in a long time, Kosmo curled up at his back like he was made to be there. 

“You two have a special bond,” Coran says and the fire between them crackles. “I’m sure that will come in handy.”

Keith looks up, frowning but Coran merely smiles at him cheerfully. 

“What do you mean,” Keith asks, hesitantly.

“Oh nothing really. Just that it’s good that you have each others back.” Coran nods like he’s agreeing with himself. “Always good to know there’s someone who you can count on, especially someone as loyal and intelligent as Kosmo.”

After that Coran yawns, wide and exaggerated. 

“Well, I should be off to bed. Don’t stay up too long you two.”

With a jaunty wave, Coran disappears off into his van and Keith sits there for a while longer, confused.

Eventually Keith stands and prepares for sleep. He takes care of the fire, organises his things for the next day and then finally crawls into his tent. Kosmo comes in after him, and curls up like a warm fluffy donut against his back.

Keith closes his eyes and sleeps.

When he wakes up it’s not to the sun but to movement outside his tent. 

Unlike the night before he doesn’t feel panicked in the slightest, just merely aware. He stares up at the ceiling of his tent, blinking sleep out of his eyes, listening for whatever had woken him.

It comes after a minute, the soft almost nonexistent sound of footfalls. They sound cautious as they come from behind his tent. He thinks that there might be a limp to them but they’re so quiet that he can’t say for certain. Keith turns his head on his pillow and is greeted with sleepy yellow eyes. Kosmo blinks at him once, and then goes back to sleep.

There’s a rustle by the front of his tent and when he looks back he can see the shadow of something massive moving about outside, can hear the soft sound of something breathing. 

It lingers for a while and the idea of getting up to look come and goes in a breath. 

The shadow moves, hunching lower and there’s another sound, a rustle, and then it straightens and just lingers for a moment, shifting back and forth.

A loud sound comes from inside one of the vans and there’s a startled huff of breath. Before Keith can do anything— what would he even do?— the shadow is gone and Keith can hear its footsteps heading back into the woods, strides long—and there is definitely a limp— and almost supernaturally silent. 

He lays there awake for a while, mind turning over and over. 

The urge to get up and look around is there but so is tiredness. Eventually, Keith turns onto his side and closes his eyes. 

xXx

 _It was dark outside and still and the chill of winter hung in the air, heavy like a weight._

_Inside it was warm though. His bed was soft, his favourite blanket was covering him almost past his chin and his dad was a line of heat against his side._

_His dad was telling him a story. He couldn't hear it, not really. It was like listening to water lapping against the creeks edge or the subtle groans of the trees as they sway under a strong wind—indistinct and faded around the edges._

_Around them, the cabin breathed in time with his dad._

_“Kit?” his dad said quietly. When Keith made a noise his dad huffed a laugh. “How’re you not asleep yet?”_

_“Not tired,” Keith said around a yawn._

_“Yeah, I’m sure.” His dad skims his hand over Keiths hair. “You were runnin’ around for hours out there.”_

_“I was playing.”_

_“Oh yeah? What were you playin’?”_

_“Hide and seek,” Keith answers quietly. “I couldn't find him.”_

_His dad goes still. And then—“You know, maybe he should be seeker. He might come out then.”_

_“You think so?” Keith yawns again, sinking further into the bed._

_“I think they’re used to people chasin’,” his dad says quietly. “But he might come to you if you let him.” He paused. “You’ve seen him?”_

_“I think so.” Keiths eyes open, heavy with sleep. “I keep seeing grey fur but then he goes away.”_

_“Give it time kiddo,” his dad says, voice soft, “I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.”_

_“You think so?” He looks up at his dad._

_Keith feels him shrug. “I don't know why not, as long as you’re kind.”_

_“I can be kind,” Keith whispers._

_The arm around him tightens slightly, like a hug. “You_ are _kind.”_

_Keith doesn't say anything, just tucks himself further against his dad. The scent of honey and smoke fills his nose, comforting just like his dad’s voice. The room was dark like the moon was gone but Keith could see it through his window, a cheshire smile in the sky._

_There’s a howl in the distance._

_“And there’s the chimes at midnight,” his dad murmurs. “Say goodnight Keith.”_

xXx

He sleeps for only a few hours but it’s deep and restful in a way that he rarely experiences. He wakes up the next morning before all the others, filled with an almost childish eagerness to look around his tent.

Kosmo huffs at him and buries his muzzle under Keith’s sleeping bag, content to nap just that little bit longer. He tugs his boots on, lacing them up with sure hands and then he’s unzipping the tent and looking around. 

He doesn’t have to look hard. Where the day before there had been a small stack of rocks, today there was a flower, roots and all, sitting in a pile of dirt just outside his tent. It’s one of the tulips and Keith can’t stop himself from reaching forward and stroking the petals.

Gently he picks it up, clumps of dirt falling from around the base. He bites his lip and looks about, thinking, and then he’s quietly digging through the box of their kitchen suppliers with one hand, and carefully cradling the flower to his chest with the other.

He pulls out one of their mugs and promises to himself that he’ll pay Hunk back for it later and with that thought he scurries back to his tent, feeling a little bit like a thief. 

Keith sits down in the opening to his tent and scoops up the pile of dirt into the cup and then deposits the flower in as well, covering up the roots with careful fingers. It looks a little funny, the flower in the cup, but he can’t help but smile at it as he sits it inside his tent and trickles a little water in around the base. 

He strokes the petals again as the dawn light begins to wash in, turning the delicate flower blush coloured. Kosmo watches him with droopy eyes from under the mound he’d made out of the sleeping bag and Keith feels a flush scrawl across his cheeks as he snatches his hand back.

“Don’t judge me,” he mutters, cheeks still burning slightly. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

Kosmo huffs at him, almost rolling his eyes and with no one watching him, Keith feels secure enough to stick his tongue out at him in return.

He lays back down after that, dressed but filled with a lazy sort of energy. Kosmo shifts until Keith is pillowing his head against his side and he lays there, just watching the flower as it sways in the gentle breeze coming in through the open tent. 

It takes almost an hour before he begins to hear the others stirring in their vans and he doesn’t bother moving from his spot until he hears the doors open.

The day starts off slow compared to the previous days. Hunk is yawning into his coffee as he hands out breakfast and Allura and Pidge were leaning against each other, chatting quietly in the morning air. Lance had slumped into one of the chairs, head hanging back at an awkward angle and he doesn’t even stir when Hunk tosses a sandwich into his lap.

The only person aside from Keith who was genuinely awake was Coran, bright eyed and bushy tailed as he leaned over a map spread out across their table.

Hunk meanders his way up to Keith last, hands him a sandwich and then puts down a plate of something that Keith thinks might actually be chopped up steak for Kosmo.

Keith takes a bite of his sandwich and has to physically stop the moan trying to work its way up from his chest. 

“S’good.” Keith swallows and has to force himself from following Kosmo’s example and devouring the entire thing in two bites. “Thanks Hunk.”

Hunk smiles at him from behind his coffee. “No worries man, I’m glad you like it.”

Keith takes another bite and then nods towards Lance while he swallows. “He okay?”

“Huh?” Hunk looks over and then snorts. “Oh, yeah he’s fine, just woke up in the middle of the night with a brilliant idea and then couldn’t fall back to sleep for like, an hour. He’s useless without a solid eight hours.”

“Ah,” Keith says, remembering the loud noise that had startled…whatever it was outside his tent. Then he blinks. “Wait, brilliant idea?”

“Yeah, a brilliant idea,” comes a half slurred voice. 

Keith and Hunk look aver to Lance as he rights himself, just barely catching the sandwich on his lap before it tumbled off and onto the ground. 

“And what brilliant idea would that be?” It’s not that Keith doubts Lance could have brilliant ideas— if anything the last few days had proved that he was, at least, fairly competent— but rather that he felt a heavy dose of skepticism was healthy.

Lance narrows his eyes at Keith like he could tell what he’s thinking and Keith forces his face into stillness. After about a minute Lance looks away first and tears into his sandwich. He stands, spine cracking and wanders over to Coran and the table and with a shared look, Hunk and Keith follow.

“Okay so I was thinking—“

“Shocking,” Pidge cuts in blandly, sipping on her coffee.

Allura snorts into brief laughter, apologising when Lance shoots her a wounded ‘hey’.

“Anyway,” Lance starts again. “I was thinking about Bigfoot last night and I realised that we’ve been going about this all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Allura asks.

“I mean that we’ve been doing most of our searching during the day, but a lot of people out there think that Bigfoot is actually more active at night.”

Coran hums, rubbing his chin. “You’re correct actually. Or at least if not at night, then they tend to be more active at dust.”

“So what are you planning then,” Keith asks, eyebrow raised. “You suggesting that we go out there at night?”

At his side Hunk shudders. “I, for one would like to vote no. I’m all for a walk through the forest during the day when I can see my feet but at night man? That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Okay maybe not a night,” Lance concedes, “but at the very least I think we should try and stay out just a little bit longer, maybe put up those night vision cameras while we’re at it.” 

“We have night vision cameras?” Keith asks, surprised.

“Yup.” Pidge pats the bag at her side. “Hunk and I gave them a work over as well— they’ve got tougher cases and better battery life than the one you can buy off the shelf.”

“Huh,” Keith says. “Okay then.”

“Keith,” Allura asks, “what are your thoughts on this? You’re the one that’s going to be leading us around after all.”

“I…” Keith trails off and frowns, thinking. The idea with being out in the forest and night doesn’t really bother him too much, at least not if it was just him and Kosmo that he had to look after. But having to keep and eye on the others as well made him feel apprehensive.

“It’s doable,” he says after a while. “But we’d have to be careful. We shouldn’t stay out too long after dusk, an hour at most, and no wandering off, you stay where I can see you and you step where I tell you to.” The others nod in agreement. “And…” Keith bites his lip. “And we continue looking through the east side.”

It may have changed over the years but he’s still relatively certain that if push comes to shove, he could find his way around in the dark. 

“What, why the east side?” Lance asks, frowning at him. 

“Because I said so,” Keith says simply. 

When Lance opens his mouth to say something Hunk whacks him lightly in the shoulder. “Come on Lance, if Keith says east side then we check the east side. We’re going to be following him anyway.”

“Plus we’ve found the most evidence on the east side,” Allura adds, Pidge nodding at her side. 

Lance throws his hands up. “Okay then, east side it is. But since we’re staying out later I’m napping for another half hour.”

xXx

It’s almost midday by the time they start heading out in earnest. Coran waves them off from the table, map still out along with a book thick enough that Keith suspects it could be used as a weapon in a pinch. 

He leads them into the tree line and a shiver goes up his spine. 

It’s quiet but it feels different from the first time—wrong almost even if he can’t quite put his finger on why. 

He’s slow as he leads the others further into the forest, cautious. If the others have complaints about his speed they don’t voice them, perhaps picking up on the atmosphere or at least the way Keith and Kosmo are reacting to it. 

About an hour into the trek Keith notices the first sign of something wrong. 

A footprint crossing right over their path. 

Or rather not a footprint but a boot-print, large with heavy tread, heading in the same direction they’re going. In fact the longer he looks the more he see. 

Keith kneels, hearing the others come to a stop behind him and a few seconds later Kosmo is walking around him to sniff at what Keith’s found. 

Kosmo growls. 

“I’m guessing those aren’t ours from yesterday then,” Hunk says, sounding resigned. 

“No.” Keith reaches out to trace a finger over the deep edge of one of the prints. “These definitely aren’t ours.”

“Do you think they’re Sendak’s?” Allura looks over his shoulder, frowning.

Keith releases his breath in a hiss. “Yeah,” he admits. “Him and his men.”

“I thought one of the reasons why we stuck to the east side was because we were trying to avoid him.” Hunk shifted, looking around them nervously. “Should we turn back?”

Keith looked down the track he’d been taking them. 

“Keith?” 

He stood up, pulling his backpack more firmly onto his shoulder, and started off down the sloping track. 

“Guess we’re not turning back.”

Keith followed the tracks as they wound through the trees. Sometimes he lost them over hard ground but between him and Kosmo they followed them all the way to the creek they’d been at yesterday. 

Keith felt a strange sense of déjà vu as he looked at where the bootprints disappeared against the waters edge. 

Not waiting for the others, Keith headed down stream to where he knew a series of sizeable rocks sat amongst the water. He didn’t relish the idea of walking for who knows how long with wet socks and boots and he couldn’t imagine the others would feel any better about it. 

He crossed the creek on nimble feet and went back up to the spot where the boots had disappeared. He could hear the others talking amongst themselves as they helped each other across, Kosmo forgoing the rock path entirely to wade through the water. 

It was easy to pick up the trail again. Sendak and his team didn’t seem to be bothering covering their tracks which at the very least made Keith’s job easier. 

Granted Keith didn’t know what he’d do if he found them but he could work that out later— he always worked better on instinct anyway.

He followed the tracks for half an hour before he lost them over a ridge where the soil turned to rock and neither he nor Kosmo could pick up the trail. 

“Okay all mighty tracker, I’m calling for a break.” Lance dropped his pack down behind Keith, wiping away a sheen of sweat from his brow. 

“I’m with Lance on this one buddy.” Hunk sank down next to where Keith was crouched and Keith blinked, looking behind him. 

Allura and Pidge smiled at him though they both looked as flushed as Hunk and Lance, eagerly digging through their packs pulling out water and energy bars.

“Ah,” Keith says with a wince. “Sorry.”

Pidge waves him off. “It’s fine. Honestly it’s kinda cool watching you go into Tracker Mode.”

Allura nods. “Your eyebrows do a thing.”

“A thing?”

“She means your eyebrows go all frowny,” Lance says around a mouthful of something that smelled like honey. “Y’should be careful about that or else your face is gonna get stuck that way.”

“My face is fine,” Keith says, exasperated.

Lance’s face does something complicated but whatever he wanted to say—and Keith is certain that he was going to say something—was interrupted by the tiny pebble that Hunk tossed at him. 

They all settle down into a soft silence as they rest. Keith munches happily on a bar that Hunk handed to him—something homemade with chocolate—while Kosmo sniffs around the underbrush nearby before flopping down into a patch of sunlight like a particularly huge cat. 

Dusk is fast approaching, and the strange feeling in the pit of Keith’s stomach leadens into something worse.

They pack up and start heading down to the side of cliff that Keith vaguely remembers his dad taking him too as a kid. There were caves in the cliff face he thinks, but his memory is fuzzy at best. 

Kosmo comes up to walk at his side, darting in front whenever something small catches his attention. 

It’s pure luck that Keith spots it— the sun hitting just the right angle at just the right time and that lead ball in his stomach turns to ice.

“Kosmo stop!”

Kosmo freezes in place, ears pricked and hackles raised as Keith rushes up, stooping low to grab a thick branch off the ground as he goes. He shoves Kosmo out of the way and drives the end of the branch into the maw of the bear trap.

His ears ring as it snaps shut, splintering the end of the branch like a twig.

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes. 

“How did you see that?” Pidge asks, sounding shocked.

Keith drops his pack and then sinks to his knees beside the bear trap, digging around the closed jaws and exposing the spikes setting it place. They’re driven in deep but that doesn’t stop Keith as he grips the first one and pulls.

“Saw the metal,” he grits out. 

The first spike comes out and he discards it off to the side and sets in on the second one. 

“That was lucky,” Allura says gravely. 

Kosmo whines lowly, and noses against Keith’s shoulder and he wants to stop and pet him, run his hands through his fur but he also wants to get the last spike out and get rid of the fucking trap he needs to do it— 

The spike finally comes with a dull sound and it joins the other off to the side. 

Keith leaves the bear trap where it is and twists to grab Kosmo’s head between his hands, rubbing at his ears. Kosmo licks gently at the edge of his jaw and Keith can’t stop himself from pressing his forehead against his, just breathing for a second against his fur.

Eventually he lets go, stands, and then grabs the bear trap. He grunts slightly as he heaves it off to the side to rest it against the closest tree and then he brushes the dirt off his hands. 

“Hey Pidge?”

Pidge looks up at him, glasses glinting in the dying light. “Yeah Keith?”

“Can you mark this area somehow? Like the exact spot?”

“On it.” She pulls out one of their maps, resting the unfolded sheet against Allura’s back until she finally nods. “Done.”

“What’s that for?” Lance questions. 

“So I can find it later.” Keith shoulders his pack again. “If there’s one out here then there’s more. I’m not going to just leave them out for something to walk into but I can’t look for them when its getting dark like this.”

“So we’re heading back now?” Hunk looks up at the quickly darkening sky and then back down to Keith. 

“I don’t want to risk walking around out here until I know the area’s clean.”

Hunk nods. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He settles his backpack more firmly against his shoulders and then pauses. “Are you okay Keith,” he asks after a moment.

Keith breathes out slowly. “No,” he answers after a moment. “I’m angry.” 

He looks back at the bear trap against the tree, at its huge teeth. 

“There’s no hunting in these woods.” The words feel dragged out of him.

Pidge frowns down at the screen of her GPS. “I mean, technically we’re out of the park right now. For all we know the owners of the private prope—“

“No.” Keith feels his jaw ache with how hard he clenches his jaw. “ No, there’s no hunting here either.”

“And how do you know that?” Lance crosses his arm, head cocked as he looks at Keith, more curious than accusing but Keith still has to take a second to curb the immediate impulse to snap at him.

Keith breathes in slowly. “I just do,” he mutters eventually.

“Okay.” From behind Lance’s shoulder, Allura looks at him calmly. “We believe you.”

Keith nods to her in thanks, hands anxiously rubbing at Kosmo’s ears.

They start heading back after that, following in their footsteps as much as possible. Keith keeps the branch on him, poking around whenever he has to deviate from the path they took down and Kosmo sticks close behind him, nose bumping up against the backs of his thighs every now and then, reassuring him.

It’s slow going but the others don’t complain even as the sun starts sinking below the horizon, lighting the sky up with pinks and reds. Keith ignores the others as they talk amongst themselves too busy focusing on where he puts his feet. 

They’ve just gotten back to the creek when the first gunshot rings out, followed close by a second and then a third.

Keith freezes in place, heart in his throat as he strains to hear something, anything, after the shots. 

A heartbeat passes like molasses, stretching into forever.

CRACK.

A fourth gunshot rings out but this time its followed by a terrible sound— an almost animal-like howl that makes Keith’s hair stand on end and it fades out into the night air.

“What the fuck what the fuck _what the fu—_ ”

“Shut _up_ Lance,” Keith hisses.

Keith hears Lance’s jaw snap shut and a quick look behind his shows the others huddling together, eyes wide and panicked. 

Pidge swallows. “Was that…” She trails off.

Keith doesn’t answer but only because he’s distracted.

There’s a distant sound, coming from somewhere deep amongst the trees. 

“What was that?” Keith’s spine stiffens and he backs up, ushering the others behind him and behind the bulk of a close crop of trees.

“What was what?” Lance hisses, sounding panicked. 

Keith shushes him.

There’s another noise from the trees and then another and another— branches cracking in the dark as something barrels through the underbrush, getting closer and closer. 

“Keith. Keith. Keith—“

“What Hunk,” Keith snaps.

“Is that getting closer?”

Keith breathes in and feels Kosmo press against his knee. “Yes.”

There was a crash somewhere ahead of them. In the dark, wood splintered and groaned as something big came towards them at speed but now Keith could hear something beyond it— people. 

He could hear people. 

There was the occasional shout— he couldn’t tell what the words were but he knew what an order sounded like when he heard it. There were the softer sounds of small branches snapping, of clumsy feet running after something far swifter and more agile. 

All at once the trees ahead of them burst outwards.

Keith shoves the other further back and down and only manages to catch the barest of glimpses before it’s gone again, across the creek and back into the tree line. 

It’s tall, over eight feet, and the sliver of moonlight coming in through the break in the canopy over the creek reveals a flash of dark fur tipped in silver. What strikes Keith most though was how silent it was—out of the trees and away from the clinging branches, Keith barely hears a sound as it runs over loose ground at a limping gallop.

It was him. It was Keith’s Bigfoot.

“Holy shit,” breathes Allura.

xXx

Keith’s first instinct is to chase. It rips though him like a lighting strike, makes his heart beat harder even as his vision seems to sharpen.

But then reality comes crashing back down as Sendak comes crashing out of the trees.

He’s armed with a gun and there are four other men hot on his heels. They linger at the waters edge for just a moment before they’re heading off through the water, calling to each other as they spread out along the opposite bank and disappear into the tree line.

The six of them stay hidden long enough for the sounds of the hunt to fade into the distance. Keith can still hear them but the sounds of the others breathing heavily is almost enough to drown out the cracking branches.

Crouched there, it’s not difficult to come to a decision. 

Keith straightens and shucks off his pack, handing it off to Hunk who takes it with a shocked look. He keeps the heavy branch he’s been carrying with him and the weight of his knife at the small of his back is a comforting weight.  
“Keith,” Hunk asks him, hesitantly. “What are you doing?”

Keith faces them all. “I’m going after them.”

The others burst out all at once.

“What do you mean—!“

“Keith come on now—!”

“We should think about this first—!”

“Come on buddy, be reasonable—!”

Keith waits them out with more patience than he thought he would have in this situation. The longer he stands there the further Sendak gets away but something tells him that he wont be difficult to find. When the others finally quieten he looks up at them, steady. 

“If someone doesn’t do something they’ll catch the Bigfoot and then they’ll kill it. We can’t let that happen.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Hunk looks stressed, hands clenched on the straps of Keith’s backpack.

“I’m the only one who can find their way through these woods by themselves at night,” he explains gently. “They’re moving fast so I’ll need to run and I don’t know if any of you will be able to keep up like that.”

Lance cuts in. “But what about the rest of us? Are you just going to leave us here?”

Keith shakes his head. “You all need to head back to camp, get to Coran and call the authorities. Sendak and his men are hunting on this property illegally, that should be enough to get them taken away from here.”

“And how are we meant to get back to Coran in the dark,” Pidge asks. “You said it yourself, you’re the only one who might be able to find your way through here in the dark and we won’t be able to find you or Sendak again later.”

Keith quirks his mouth up into a small smile. “Kosmo can take you back to camp and he’ll be able to find me later.”

“Are you sure?”

Keith kneels down in front of Kosmo. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’m sure.” Kosmo holds his gaze, yellow, almost glowing in the low light. “Right boy?”

Gently, Kosmo leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together and then he huffs once, and straightens, tail wagging. 

Keith tightens his grip on the branch in his hand, standing. “Follow Kosmo,” he says, walking backwards towards the creeks edge. “And watch your feet.”

“Wait a second, what if we get arrested for trespassing too?!”

“Just tell them you have permission from Kogane to be here!” Keith calls back as he sprints down to the crossing and then across the rocks. 

His feet were sure as he ran through the trees, ducking under low hanging branches and dodging the whip thin twigs that swiped as his face. He could hear Sendak and his men ahead of him, crashing through the underbrush and ahead of them the sound of something large.

Keith slowed minutely— against instinct but he wanted to get his bearings. The air was becoming thick with curling fog but he still vaguely recognised the area. They were heading closer and closer to his old home. 

The shadows between the trees stretched deeper and darker with the faint silverly light from the moon but even that was disappearing quickly as cloud cover began to roll in. He follows his gut as he picks a direction through the trees.

He follows Sendak doggedly for what feels like an hour through the dark and the encroaching cold. The trail he and his men leave behind them is obvious even in the low visibility— broken branches and trampled plants. Something hot and angry crackles through his chest when he follows the path through the grove with the flowers and finds them with broken stems and heavy bootprints sunken deep into the soft soil.

There’s another CRACK and another howl, this time closer. It sounds pained but also scared and Keith bolts off in the direction it came from.

He can hear shouting again, clearer now than last time and it sounds triumphant.

He hits the top of a ridge and has a second to look down into a clearing, panting, hand white knuckled on his branch. 

Down below him stands Sendak— he recognises his bulk, the hard set of his shoulders— and before him, looking small despite its size is something slumped in the shadow of a massive tree. 

Keith doesn’t think, doesn’t have time to as he see’s Sendak raise the gun in his hand. He leaps forward, staying low, and manages to get down the slope without being seen. This close and he can hear the pained whines coming from the shape still partially hidden from his sight. 

Lungs aching from the cold, Keith judges the distance, hefting the thick branch over his head and brings it down across Sendak’s back.

The next gunshot goes wide, close enough that Keith is grateful for the silencer, and he gets a brief glimpse of startled eyes— huge and grey, and shining in the low light— before a hard elbow is driving itself into his ribs. He rolls with the strike, bringing the branch up in another swing, throwing his momentum behind it. It cracks against Sendak’s arm and the huge man staggers, dropping his gun and turning around with a snarl. 

There’s a sound from off to the side and Keith chances a look against the likelihood of taking a hit and sees empty space where the Bigfoot had been. Relief rushes through him but it vanishes in the next second as a fist swings by, inches from his face. 

Keith jerks back just in time, scrambling backwards in an attempt to put some space between him and Sendak but he underestimates his reach. Cruel, unyielding fingers tangle themselves in Keith’s hair, wrenching his neck back hard enough to drive a cry from his throat. 

Moonlight slips down through a gap in the clouds and catches on the hard plains of Sendak’s face— lips twisted in a rictus of hatred, eyes alight with something that sends a pang of genuine fear through Keith’s stomach. 

There’s a moment of pain and then he’s airborne as Sendak tosses him. 

He hits the ground hard.

His cheek cracks against something sharp hidden amongst the leaf litter—maybe stone—and there’s a few seconds where he just lays there, stunned, before the pain rushes in, white hot and agonising. 

He feels more than hears Sendak come up behind him, reaching for him. A hand clamps down hard on his ankle and he kicks back hard but Sendak merely grunts and tightens his grip. 

He gets dragged along the forest floor and Keith scrambles for a hold on something, anything, and when that doesn’t work he twists an arm behind him just enough to grab the hilt of his knife. 

Sendak pulls him hard, yanking him onto his back and Keiths head spins with vertigo. He feels the large man start to drop down onto him, trying to pin him and knows that if he lets that happen he’ll be trapped. 

Keith’s blinking black spots out of his eyes, his cheek and neck feel wet and hot and his ribs ache from the first hit Sendak got on him—if Sendak traps him he won’t be able to struggle out.

Keith takes one gasping breath, tightens his grip, and then drives his knife down. 

The hit lands…sort of. It skitters across the hard surface of something that feels almost like armour, but then it bites into flesh. Sendak howls, rearing back just enough for Keith to get his legs under him and he kicks sending Sendak toppling down to the ground. 

Keith takes his chance with both hands and runs.

He hears Sendak curse and take chase and Keith finds himself grateful that his team seem to have disappeared somewhere in the woods. 

He doesn’t know how he manages to keep his feet under him but he does somehow, not even slipping on the decomposing leaves and moss that litter the forest floor. Bit by bit, the sound of Sendak following him gets further and further away as Keith manages to pull ahead until the only sounds Keith can hear are the forest around him and his own ragged breathing.

He slows to a stop, trying to get his bearings.

It takes a few seconds but he recognises the area— he’s about an hours walk from the cabin. 

He takes his next few steps cautiously— his chest feels tight and he doesn’t know what his cheek looks like but he’s afraid to touch it and find out. 

He steps out from behind a tree and two things happen simultaneously. 

One of Sendak’s men rounds a dense grouping of trees, looking as surprised to see Keith as Keith is to see him. The surprise doesn’t last long though and the man—tall and thin with a cruel looking turn to his lips—raises his gun.

At the exact same time, the back of Keith’s neck prickles.

There’s a now familiar CRACK and a line of heat scores itself along Keith’s right shoulder and he falls, slumping back against a tree. 

And as his vision finally starts to black out, the forest between him and the man explodes. Wood cracks and splinters under the force of something big and angry and under it all, a deep rumbling snarl that reminds him of thunder.


	3. House With A Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks like he fits in this place—amongst the moss and the trees and the old wood in this home Keith had thought he'd lost.
> 
> ~
> 
> In which things end where they began.

_He’s small, running through the woods around their cabin, chasing something and laughing. Flashes of grey appear and then vanish between the trunks of trees that are so tall they look like giants. He runs and he runs and then, like he’s falling through water, the light around him ripples and shifts._

_He’s leaving gifts on the old tree stump where he always leaves them but this time they’re shiny rocks, and flowers and the note is a letter that goes on for pages and pages. Beside him, Kosmo is watching him with knowing, glowing eyes._

xXx

Keith opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at a familiar ceiling.

His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and it takes a few seconds for the sight to register—whorls in the wood that always reminded him of galaxies. Spread out around them and scattered across the ceiling are the faded blue/green plastic stars that his dad had helped him put up when he was six. They aren’t glowing anymore but he can still make them out enough to recognise Canis Major.

He’d wanted a dog made of stars and his dad had given him one.

He stares and stares and stares and when he finally remembers to breathe in, its sharp—almost a sob.

He’s in his old home. He’s in his old bedroom, _why_ —

Keith blinks away the sting in his eyes and forces himself to take deep, even breaths. It takes a few minutes for the urge to cry to subside and once it finally passes, other sensations finally start spilling in.

He’s shirtless under whatever blanket is covering him, hag stone sitting cold against his chest, and Keith finds himself dazedly grateful of that when he thinks about how much blood and dirt must have been covering his top and jacket. A wiggle of his toes tells him that his boots are also missing but not his socks. 

He feels dull—slowed. None of the cotton in his head has cleared and vaguely he wonders if he has a concussion. 

His shoulder and his cheek both ache but far less than he was expecting. He moves his jaw and feels something wet clinging to his skin— not the tacky feeling of dry blood but something else. He becomes aware of a smell, something aggressively organic and, hesitantly, he raises his good arm to prod gently at his cheek and then at his shoulder. 

Both wounds are covered in something—a poultice, though when he looks at the residue on his fingers he can’t tell what it’s made from aside from plants. He spares a prayer that it’s nothing poisonous and then continues taking stock of himself. 

His legs ache distantly, heavy and sore from running over uneven terrain and the knuckles on his hands sting slightly when he clenches and unclenches his fists. When he raises his hands up to his eyes he can see that the skin is split from the hits he’d managed to land. When he moves his head he feels a slight twinge in his neck, presumably from when Sendak had wrenched his head back during their fight.

Other than that he’s fine which is better than he’d been expecting and, with that acknowledged, there’s nothing stopping him from finally taking a proper look around him.

Slowly, gently, Keith levers himself up with his good arm until he’s leaning back against the wooden wall the bed is against.

He looks around.

The first thing he notices is that the bed isn’t really a bed. Rather it's just the mattress laying directly on the floor. It’s sunken in places like it’s been crushed by a great weight and it’s definitely not the one he’d had as a kid— its too large for that. 

The second thing he notices are the blankets. They’re piled up on the floor and the bed like a nest, adding padding and softness where the bed and floor fell short. 

It’s the blanket draped over his legs though that has another wave of tears threaten to spill. It’s torn and covered in fine hairs like a dog had been sleeping on it but he recognises the dark blue fabric and the myriad of stars to match the ceiling. 

Keith looks away. 

His knife is sitting in its sheath on top of the blankets, off to the side where he wouldn’t accidentally roll onto it and it’s a welcome sight for all he doesn’t feel the need to reach for it. 

The moon is shining through his bedroom window, finally out in all her glory and the light is just enough to see by.

The room itself looks remarkably intact for something that had been left alone for around ten years, at the mercy of the wind and rain and with no one around for upkeep. There’s a crack in one of the panes of glass, a small one, but Keith can hear the faint whistle of the wind as it rushes past outside. There’s a few broken floorboards just below the broken window but as far as he can tell the ones under the mess of blankets were still perfectly solid.

Keith gnaws on his lip, thinking.

Slowly, he scoots himself over to the edge of the mattress, swinging his legs around until his socked feet are amongst the blankets. It feels like he’s moving through molasses. He shivers slightly in the cold air and after a moments consideration, he grabs his old blanket and tugs it over his shoulders like a cape, careful of the mess on his shoulder.

He makes to stand but freezes at the creak of wood somewhere else in the cabin. 

He looks up towards the door—or where the door used to be at least. It’s missing from its hinges, leaving a gaping emptiness in its place, and it takes a few seconds for him to realise that it’s in pieces, left haphazardly leaning against the one piece of furniture in the room. 

It’s his old desk tucked away in the corner and, sitting on top of it, staring at him with yellow plastic eyes, is a little black lion.

Numb, Keith forces himself to stand and walk over. 

It’s the same black lion he’d left on the tree stump as a kid. He recognises the chip on the red wings and the faint scratch marks along its body. 

It’s not alone either. Surrounding it are rocks by the dozen, sparkly with bits of quartz, that he remembers digging up with grubby hands. A tiny lopsided wolf clumsily carved from wood leans up against the lions side, tail stained in one spot from where he’d nicked his finger while carving it. 

Other bits and pieces litter the table, each one more impossible than the last—because surely this is impossible except the lion watching him tells him that it isn’t—and piled up under the weight of the largest rock are a few tattered and yellowed pieces of paper.

He can’t read anything on them. There’s the scratch marks of his writing but the ink has run from water damage. 

He doesn’t need to read them though, because he knows what they’d say. 

There’s another creak from the hallway.

Keith swallows around the lump in his throat. “After I moved away I began to think that it was my dad who took them.” His voice comes out in a harsh rasp. “I thought he was—“ He cuts himself off with a hard swallow and it feels like he’s swallowing glass. “But he didn’t. You were taking them.”

Keith looks over to the figure in the doorway.

Soft grey eyes stare out of the dark. And then, slowly, a nod.

Keith licks his lips. “Can I see you? Can you—can you come closer?”

There’s a moment where Keith can practically feel the hesitation but then the dark mass in the doorway moves. Keith takes a stumbling step back towards the bed, neck craning back and back and back, breath catching in his throat.

He—because Keith know’s he’s is a he, his dad had told him—has to crane his head to get through the doorway and when he finally straightens, the tufts on his lynx-like ears brush the ceiling.

Keith can see how people catching glimpses of a Bigfoot would think ape first and foremost. Bipedal, broad in the shoulders and trim at the waist with long limbs—and yes with large feet—he has the vague outline of a very very large humanoid. 

But this close, the longer Keith stares, the more feline he sees in the slopes and angles of his face. 

He’s covered in soft downey looking fur, a dusky grey where it isn’t silver. It bleeds lighter at his hands—hand, Keith corrects himself. One arm ends just below the shoulder, the cut clean and almost surgical to Keiths eyes—and over the breadth of his shoulders and his face. 

There are dark markings coming from his eyes that remind Keith of the black tear-like streaks on a cheetah’s face and it’s all topped off with a crest of long silver fur. 

There are scars too. They curve over the muscles of his shoulders, turning his fur ragged in places but the most prominent one sits over the bridge of his nose, bisecting his face markings. 

There are other marks that look fresh too. It takes a while to spot them amongst the grey fur but they look pink and shiny compared to the others— a deep scoring mark across one of his thighs, a smaller one on his opposite calf and a curving cut over his right bicep.

Even with the damage he’s still the most beautiful thing Keith’s ever seen. 

“Hi,” he says dumbly. “I’m Keith.”

The Bigfoot rumbles and sways forward and its instinct to flinch away from something so big but somehow he manages to squash the impulse. 

A huge hand reaches for him, moonlight glinting off sharp claws, but as Keith watches they retract, leaving behind harmless fingers—for a given definition of harmless. Keith is positive that the Bigfoot could crush him with one hand if he really wanted to.

The hand hesitates, hovering in the air between them and then it finally catches on the edge of Keith’s blanket. Gently, so achingly gentle, he tugs the blanket back up to cover Keith better. 

He rumbles again, mouth opening and exposing bone white fangs, each as big as Keith’s thumbs. By rights it should terrify him but nothing about this situation scares Keith because—

Because he’d kept the gifts.

After all these years he’d kept the gifts. 

Hand still pressed against the edges of starry fabric, the Bigfoot furrows his brows and then, in a halting, cautious manner, he _speaks._ “Keith.”

Keith gapes at him. “You can talk,” he whispers.

The Bigfoots voice was deep but wavering. It sounded rarely used and who, if anyone, he’d had to talk to. His dad had mentioned parents, hadn’t he?

The Bigfoot’s ears prick forwards, tufts swishing against the ceiling. Slowly, he nods. “Keith,” he rumbles, a single finger tapping against Keith’s uninjured shoulder. Then the hand pulls back to tap at his own. “Shiro.”

“What?” Keith blinks up at him.

The Bigfoot taps his own shoulder again. “Shiro,” he repeats.

Clarity comes to Keith. “That’s your name?”

The Bigfoot—Shiro, nods and the breath rushes out of Keiths lungs. 

Shiro’s ears prick up, startled, but Keith doesn’t get the chance to say anything. Instead his legs choose that moment to buckle and Keith spares a small hope that when he lands he’ll at least land on something soft. 

He never hits the ground. 

A large hand darts out to catch him and Keith has a moment of vertigo as he’s lifted off the ground with entirely too much ease, arm a band of muscle around his waist. There’s a second where he can feel the warmth from Shiro bleeding in through the blanket and Keith hadn’t realised how cold he’d felt until then.

He can’t stop the small sound he makes as he’s gently deposited back onto the bed and the line of heat disappears.

Before he can say anything—such as asking him to come back, to be closer—Shiro disappears back out through the doorway and into the shadowed hall beyond. 

Keith sits there, oddly disappointed. 

He fiddles with his blanket, running his fingers over a torn edge and picking at the fur caught in the fabric. At least now he knows whose bed he’s stealing. 

That thought sends an odd flush through him as it sinks in that he’s almost certainly in Shiro’s nest. 

He’s just about to try standing again with the intent of trying to follow Shiro when the sound of soft footsteps reach him. A few seconds later, the Bigfoot reappears and in his hand is one of the large metal mixing bowls that Keith remembers his dad using.

It’s dented and scuffed and looks ridiculously small in Shiro’s hand.

Shiro looks down at Keith’s socked feet, off the mattress and planted on the floor and gives a disappointed sounding chuff. Sheepishly, Keith tucks his feet back up onto the bed, inordinately pleased when Shiro trills softly.

Shiro pads over to him and crouches before him, offering up the bowl. It’s filled with clear, fresh water and Keith suddenly becomes aware of how thirsty he is. He steadies the base of the bowl with his good arm but otherwise lets Shiro hold it for him and he drinks until he can’t anymore. 

It tastes good and he can’t help but wonder if the water is from one of the many small streams running across the property or if by some miracle, the water is still running. 

Shiro puts the bowl on the desk, careful of the gifts covering it and then turns back to Keith. 

He reaches out, tugging at the blanket until Keith’s shoulder is exposed to the open air and then he’s leaning forward. Heat radiates off him and Keith can’t stop the small shiver from crawling up his spine. Shiro croons softly, large fingers probing gently around the edges of the poultice. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he stops and then starts checking the other wound.

A large hand tilts his head to the side, exposing his cheek and jaw. It get’s the same treatment that his shoulder got; fingers gently pressing around the edges of the poultice. His hands is so big that his fingers should feel clumsy on his skin but they don’t.

Eventually Keith’s eyes drift shut and the probing fingers settle into a hold, cradling his jaw, the tip of a claw sweeping gently at the skin under his eye. 

Shiro rumbles again. “Good, now.”

Keith eye’s flutter open. He feels drowsy. “Good?” he questions. 

Shiro nods, the floof spilling over his forehead swishing in time with the tufts on his ears. The finger taps gently against his skin and then the hand withdraws. “Good. Hurt—gone now.”

Keith’s eyebrows raise and a hand flashes up to hover over his cheek. True to his word, the ache he’d woken up with was gone. Keith couldn’t put his finger on exactly when it had disappeared but it had.

“What’s this stuff even made from,” Keith asks, half to himself. 

“Helps pain for us,” Shiro replies. “Healing—less scars.”

“Oh.” Keith looks at the scars marking Shiro’s body and wants to ask but bites his tongue. It doesn’t seem kind. “Thank you,” he says instead. 

Shiro rumbles, eyes bright. “Wait,” he says. “Stay.”

He disappears again but reappears a few seconds later with a rag in his hand. He goes back to kneeling at Keiths feet, sets the rag on the bed and then grabs the bowl. 

He puts the bowl down and dips the rag in the remaining water and proceeds to wipe gently at the mess on Keith’s face and shoulder until the water is cloudy and his skin is clean. 

Shiro takes the bowl away and Keith twists, stringing to catch a glimpse of his shoulder. He catches sight of shiny red skin and it feels smooth and tight the way fresh scars do when he runs his fingers over it and then his cheek.

“Well fuck,” Keith says in mild disbelief. 

“Okay?”

Keith looks up to Shiro looming in the doorway. He really is big, Keith can’t help but think. 

“Okay,” Keith says with a small smile. 

“Good.” Shiro nods. “That’s good.”

The wind howls outside and Keith shivers, catching a draft coming in through the window. His skin is chilled from the water and the blanket doesn’t quite keep him warm enough. 

Shiro makes a concerned noise. “Cold?”

Keith nods, tugging the blanket around him tighter. “Yeah,” he admits. “Do you—do you think I could try a find a shirt?”

Shiro’s head cocks to the side but he nods.

He helps him stand, arm around his waist until he deems Keith steady enough and then he falls behind, letting Keith take the lead.

The rest of the cabin is dark and considerably more drafty than his bedroom had been. Unable to fight the curiosity, he forgoes his hunt for clothes just long enough to poke his head into what had been the living area and has to fight down a wince at the sight. 

Part of the ceiling over the kitchen has caved in from what looks like a fallen branch— or possibly a fallen tree, Keith amends as he gets a better look. Leaf litter covers the floor below the hole and around the debris, some of it migrating further into the house with the wind.

The old couch looks like its falling apart but the coffee table— hand made by his dad— was completely intact if scratched in places.

Keith turns around and heads for his fathers bedroom. 

Its door is missing and he wonders vaguely if Shiro did that; after all he can’t imagine that doors served much purpose for a Bigfoot other than getting in the way. He shuffles his feet just outside the entrance, unable to make the step to bring himself inside.

It’s been so long since he’d been in there. In a way, it almost feels like a different lifetime. 

A hand presses itself against his shoulder, warm and wide and all encompassing. 

“Okay?” Shiro asks.

Keith takes a deep, steadying breath. “Yeah,” he manages after a moment. His own hand comes up to squeeze gently at Shiro’s. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He steps inside. 

Compared to the rest of the house its almost perfect. The ceiling is still intact, as is the window, devoid of the draft his own bedroom suffered from. 

The wooden bed frame that dominates the room is bare of a mattress, solving the mystery of where the one in his room came from. He spots his smaller one on the ground and when he steps closer he sees that the door has been laid out across the wooden slats, turning it into a makeshift table. 

There are bundles, piled up meticulously on the flat surface, flowers and plants and a bowel in the centre with the remains of a thick paste in it. 

“Your very own apothecary huh.”

“Apothecary?” Shiro looks down at him, eyes alight with confusion. 

“Where you make the—” Keith gestures to his face and Shiro’s eyes brighten.

“Yes. Yes, here.” Shiro gestures to the room. “Dry here. Less wind—is better.”

Keith nods, accepting the explanation as he skirts around the bed, towards his dad’s old dresser. He feels Shiro following and finds himself grateful for his presence when he spots the photo, face down in its frame, next to his dads keys. 

Hand shaking, he reaches out and sets it right. 

His own grinning face stares out at him. He’s sitting on his dad’s knee, small and happy. He can’t remember who took the photo. 

There’s warmth down his back as Shiro leans over his shoulder to get a better look. 

“That’s my dad,” Keith says softly, a finger tracing his father’s face. “His name was Heath but everyone just called him Tex.”

“Tex?”

“Cuz of his accent.” Keith explains. “No matter how long he’d been out of Texas it never faded.” His finger continues to stroke over the picture. “He told me about you, when I was a kid. Bedtime stories about the creatures in the forest, only they weren’t stories.” 

“Remember him,” Shiro rumbles. His voice sounds fond. “Was kind.”

Keith swallows, a thought that had been nagging at him on the tip of his tongue.

“Shiro. Where are your parents?”

He feels Shiro stiffen behind him but doesn’t turn around to look when he feels the Bigfoot withdraw, not just yet anyway. Instead he stands there, eyes on his dads, waiting to see if Shiro gives him an answer. If he doesn’t then that’s fine too—Keith rarely ever tells people about what happened to his dad either.

“Gone, Shiro murmurs finally. “Dead.”

Keith grimaces. “Humans?”

Shiro rumbles behind him. “Killed them. Took me.” He makes a noise then, small and scared and Keith turns, hands already reaching out.

“Shiro?” He whispers.

Shiro’s eyes meet his. “Took me somewhere,” he says again. “Lost time. My—my arm.” His hand comes up to cradle the scarred end. 

“But you got out,” Keith reminds him, hand settling gently against Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro nods. “Got out, ran. Came home.” His ears pin themselves flat against his skull. “Couldn’t go back—caves too _empty._ Took the gifts. Came here.”

“Why here?” Keith asks gently.

Shiro shrugs, looking away. “Safe here. Empty but still—still felt safe.”

Keith nods. “Okay,” he says simply. 

The cabin had always felt safe to him too, even in the hours after learning that his dad wouldn’t be coming home. It still felt safe now, with its broken roof and missing doors and cracked glass—safer than anywhere he’d ever lived. It probably shouldn’t but Keith figured that there was no use looking for logic where ghosts were concerned.

His dad had built this house. Of course it was safe.

They stand like that for a while, Keith with his hand pressed against Shiro, Shiro bowed over, curving into Keith. Long enough for Keith to be reminded why he was there in the first place, the shrill sound of wind whistling through the rest of the house. 

Reluctantly Keith pulls away and he starts digging through what remained of his dad’s clothes. 

Most of it is moth eaten or damaged but he manages to find a single flannel shirt, red and black, that looks relatively okay. He tugs it on, nose wrinkling at the musty smell but it’s warm and dry and not covered in blood which is all Keith is really asking for. 

It hangs loose in the shoulders, sleeves spilling over his hands, forcing him to fold them up.

“Done,” he announces, turning. 

Shiro’s ears prick up again as he takes in Keiths appearance and the corner of his eyes seem to soften. 

“Big,” he says, a finger running along the edges of the top. 

Keith smooths down the front of the top, cheeks flushing. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m small.”

Shiro makes a sound Keith hasn’t heard yet and it takes a second for him to identify it as a laugh. 

Keith huffs, amused despite himself. “Laugh it up big guy.”

Shiro shakes his head, fangs flashing as he outright grins. “Am small.”

Keith blinks. “Who, you?”

“Yes—others bigger. Much bigger.”

“Huh.” Keith tries to imagine a Bigfoot bigger than Shiro and finds that he can’t. He’s already huge—bigger than any animal he’s ever seen with his own two eyes, even the few bears he’s seen from a distance. 

A yawn catches Keith off guard and he happily submits to the way Shiro herds him out of the room and back to his nest. He settles himself on the centre of the mattress, starry blanket still clutched tight to his chest and he pats the blankets next to him. 

“Stay,” he asks, tentative. 

Shiro hesitates for a few seconds before he’s ducking down and curling into the spot beside him. There’s space between them thanks to the extra surface area provided by the layered blankets but Keith finds himself wishing that the space was…smaller. 

It’s cold in the little valley between them.

“Hey Shiro?” Keith starts, fingers tangling in the leather cord around his neck. “Why’d you leave me things outside my tent?”

Shiro settles deeper into the mess of blankets. “The flower. You smiled—when you found them.”

“And—and this?” Keith uncovers a hand and tugs the stone out from under his shirt. His breath catches in his throat when Shiro reaches out to trace a finger over the smooth surface. 

“Good luck,” he murmurs eventually. “Mother said so.”

“Oh.” Keith’s fingers brush against Shiro’s as Keith searches his face, his gut telling him that there’s something else. “And…?” he nudges gently.

Shiro’s face twitches and Keith thinks there’s something almost bashful about his expression. 

“My colours.” Shiro says into the quiet of the room. “It—it’s my colours.”

Dark stone shot through with smokey quartz. Out of the three stones offered it was the only one like it and Keith had been drawn to it like a moth to flame. Shiro turns his face into the bedding until only a sliver of one of his eyes is visible, still watching for Keith’s reaction.

Keith’s fist closes tight around the stone. “Good. I like it.”

“It’s good?” Shiro turns a little more of his face towards Keith.

“Yeah,” Keith assures. “It’s very good.”

Shiro buries his face fully in the blankets for a second before rolling over onto his side, properly facing Keith again. Keith, emboldened, scoots just a little bit closer. “Is this okay?” he asks.

In reply, Shiro reaches his arm out and lays it over the small of Keith’s waist. It tightens slightly, just enough to bring Keith that little bit closer and Shiro hums, sounding particularly satisfied. 

“Yes,” he says simply, eyes falling shut. “Sleep now. Feel stronger—later.”

It’s easy for Keith to let his eyes slip shut, lulled into sleep by the familiar sounds of the trees outside the cabin and the swelling sound of Shiro’s hum—his purr, Keith realises, head muzzy with oncoming sleep.

That night Keith dreams of playing in the trees. 

xXx

_A dog made of stars runs beside him, familiar yellow eyes bright and happy. Keith can see another shape running in the shadows—fleeting glimpses of silver and charcoal telling him who it is. Somehow Keith knows they’re both running to the same place, so he happily follows the voice at the edge of his hearing._

_It’s a woman’s voice calling to him but he doesn’t recognise it._

_He follows it and follows it until he’s spilling out into a familiar clearing. His dad looks up from the steps and smiles at him from over the shoulder of a figure. Their back is to him and he can’t see their features but they’re tall and female there’s something familiar in the way they stand._

_“Welcome home, son.” His dad’s voice sounds like sunlight feels._

_Behind him Shiro steps out of the trees, silent as ever. His dad only grins and beckons them closer but Keith is rooted to the spot._

_“Wait, where’s Kosmo?” Keith looks behind him, past Shiro and into the forest but his dog isn’t anywhere to be seen._

_“Be here in a minute, I reckon.” His dad chuckles, warm. “But fair is fair, wouldn’t be right to start introductions until all the family’s here.”_

_“Introductions?” Keith questions, brows furrowing._

_“Of course.” A sudden frown touches his dad’s lips, like a shadow. “Damn. I’m gonna go grab the shotgun.”_

_Alarm strikes through Keith. “Shotgun? Why?”_

_His dad looks into his eyes. “We have company,” he says gravely. “Look’s like they’re gonna arrive before Kosmo does. You kid’s come on inside, it’s safe in here.”_

_His dad turns away to walk into the cabin and an urgency in his gut has Keith grabbing onto Shiro’s hand, tugging him forward._

_It’s large against his own and so very warm._

_They hit the steps, Shiro’s grip now tight and trembling as sounds start coming from the forest behind them. As he passes them, the woman turns away to the tree line and walks down to the very last step of the stairs. Keith never sees her face but he see’s the knife at her back, familiar like an old friend._

xXx

The dream vanishes like smoke on a breeze and Keith wakes to the sound of shouting. 

Adrenaline rushes through him, shocking him into full wakefulness. His internal clock tells him that it’s only been an hour at most since he fell asleep and a quick glance out the window tells him that it’s still night. 

Beside him Shiro is sitting up, ears pinned back, the whites of his eyes visible in his panic. Before he has a chance to think about it, Keith is slipping out of the nest and up to the window where he peaks out through the cracked glass. 

It’s Sendak and some of his men, though the one who shot him is conspicuously missing. 

“Fuck,” Keith whispers against the glass.

He turns back to the nest, grabbing his knife and strapping it to his waist. Shiro is still frozen, eyes fixated on the window and what lay beyond. 

His hand is clenched in the blankets, claws ripping into them. It’s trembling with its grip.

“Shiro?” Keith goes to kneel in front of him, hand coming up to cup his cheek.

Wild eyes pin him in place. “Hunters,” Shiro rasps. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Keith promises him. 

A shiver runs through Shiro’s body. “Keith,” he says and he sounds small.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Keith says again, firmer. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

Shiro nods, the movement jerky and Keith wracks his brain for a way to keep his promise. While Keith is fully prepared and willing to take them all on with just his knife he knows that there must be a better way— a smarter way. 

His brain keeps coming around to his dream and an answer comes to him.

Keith pulls way from Shiro, heart clenching at the soft sound he makes, and heads to his dads room. He can hear Shiro’s footsteps as he follows him until he’s hovering behind Keith as he throws open the closet and kneels to get at the large safe in the bottom. 

It takes one go for Keith to guess the combination— his birthday— and then he’s pulling out his dad’s old sawed off. He feels Shiro recoil behind him but ignores it for now. 

It’s old but in good condition like most things in the room. There’s no bullets to be found and Keith hadn’t expected there to be any.

Thats fine though. Sendak won’t know.

Keith stands and looks to where Shiro is standing, hunched over by the stripped bed. “Stay here,” he says and Shiro’s eyes go wide. “Don’t go near the windows and don’t come out until I give the all clear.”

“Keith.” Shiro says, alarmed. “Don’t go.”

Keith switches his grip, gun in one hand, the other coming up to cup Shiro’s face. Even hunched, Keith has to stand on the tips of his toes. 

“Trust me.” Keith strokes at the tear marks and the scar. “Trust me,” he says again, softer this time. “I’ll keep us safe—I’ll protect you.”

Shiro holds his gaze for a moment, searching. “Protect me.” There’s an emotion in his voice that too complicated for Keith to parse but he nods anyway.

“Yes,” he says. “Like you protected me.”

Shiro blinks slowly, and then nods. 

Keith smiles at him softly and then turns and leaves. He walks through to the living room being careful where he puts his feet and peaks out one of the windows. He frowns. 

The wind has picked up since he’d been brought home; he can hear it as it rips through the woods—stirring branches and sending the sprawling shadows writhing. From one direction they came from the looming trees and the other, the cabin itself. Sendak and his men are milling about the front of the cabin but they haven’t made a single move towards it—instead they linger in the small strip of light between the two mass of shadows, like they’re clinging to an island in the midst of a sea.

Unease burns through Keith’s gut even as he steels his nerves and, gritting his teeth he grips the shotgun tighter. 

He walks over to the door and throws it open, holding the shotgun up at his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, sighting down at Sendak.

“Oh, so you’re still alive.” Sendak sounds bored and he turns to look up at Keith.

“Yup.” Keith grins down at him but it was more of a baring of teeth.

Sendak hums and the men around him shift, almost nervous. “Where’s your large friend?” He questions lightly, looking around as if expecting to see Shiro lumber out of the woods any second. 

“Gone,” Keith says curtly. “Away from here and away from _you._ ”

“Really.” Sendak’s fingers tapped away at the gun in his hand but he didn’t make to raise it Keith. “You know, even if that were true, we’d just find him again. A creature like him? He can’t hide from us forever.”

“What do you even want him for?” Keith demands. “You just want to kill him?”

“Of course not,” Sendak says calmly. “She doesn’t want him dead, she just wants him back.” Yellowed eyes look up at him. “She wasn’t finished with him yet.”

Cold creeps through Keith’s veins. 

“She?” He grips his gun tighter. “Who’s ‘she’?”

Sendak grins at him. “Would you like to meet her? I think she’d like you—find you and that dog of yours quite interesting.”

Keith swallows down the flash of anger. “Stay. The fuck. Away from us.”

“No can do, unfortunately,” Sendak says with fake sincerity. His men shift around him. 

“No?” Keith takes a step forward, to the top of the stairs, pumping the shotgun. “Then come here and take me then.”

Sendak doesn’t move. None of his men do either—instead they waver there at the edge of the shadow cast by the cabin. There’s a strange static in the air, a hint of ozone that Keith can taste in the back of his throat and something whispers to him.

_Wait._

Sendak bares his teeth at Keith. “Too scared to come down and face us?” he taunts.

Keith doesn’t move. “I’m not going to make your life easier just ‘cuz you ask. You come over here and get me or you fucking leave.”

Still, Sendak and the men don’t move. 

“Why won’t you come closer,” Keith mutters to himself.

He doesn’t get a reply but then he hadn’t been expecting one. They stand there at a stalemate—Keith unwilling to go down and Sendak and his men unwilling to come closer—and the wind whistles through the trees like a wolf howl and the cabin creaks behind him.

_Wait._

Keith stays focused on Sendak, sparing a thought to watch his men. But somewhere at the edge of his field of vision he sees the tree’s sway in the wind. For a second they almost seem to lean forward as if to watch the trespassers standing at his home. Keith blinks and the movement settles down to almost nothing.

_Wait._

Sendak snarls, loud and guttural, eyes flashing. He takes a step forward, gun rising and toeing the line of the cabins looming shadow and Keith is ready to drop the gun and go for his knife—or possibly turn the shotgun against Sendak like a club, whichever strikes his fancy in the moment—but he doesn’t get the chance.

There’s a howl and this time its not the wind.

The very trees seem to shake with it and everyone watches as Kosmo slips out of the shadows to Keith’s left, teeth bared in a snarl. 

He doesn’t come alone. 

Before Keith can do so much as flinch, people are spilling out of the woods behind Kosmo. Keith catches a glimpse of familiar orange hair but is otherwise overwhelmed by the sudden bright flare of multiple flashlights and voices shouting over one another. There’s chaos for a good few seconds as the reality of the situation seems to dawn on Sendak and the rest of his team. Keith spies one or two of them who look like they’re about to run and he raises his empty shotgun at them and they freeze under the threat. 

Kosmo trots over to him, with Coran at his heels, and Keith watches as Sendak and his men are swarmed by police and what looks like one or two of the rangers from the park.

When it looks like the newcomers have things under control Keith leans the shotgun against the porch railing and kneels down to greet Kosmo. His tongue is lolling out and he has a particularly please air about him which Keith guesses is pretty justified.

“Good timing,” Keith says, burying his hands the ruff of his neck.

“Couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Coran says with a smile. He cautiously steps onto the bottom step, looking around himself at the cabin and the small crowd gathered out front. Then he squints at Keiths face. “Quite the night out, don’t you think?”

“I generally prefer them to be quieter,” Keith tells him. “And with less death threats.”

Coran nods. “Understandable.” 

“The other’s find you okay?” Keith asks after a second.

Coran beams at him. “Oh yes! They’re back at camp right now, waiting till tomorrow to come see you. They were about to come charging with us but the officers insisted otherwise.”

“Probably a good thing,” Keith says with a small chuckle. He doesn’t say it out loud but something in his chest warms, knowing that the others were willing to come out after him. 

There’s the sound of a scuffle and the three of them turn to look. One of Sendak’s men was struggling in the grip of one of the park rangers, a huge man who towers over everyone there, even Sendak. He manhandles the hunter with ease back into the small crowd. 

“Lively bunch,” Coran comments idly. 

“Indeed,” someone answers gruffly. 

Keith looks over at the two men walking up to them. One is an officer, face tired and looking mildly annoyed with the situation at hand. The other man is a ranger, face impassive, with a long braid curled over his shoulder and out of the way.

They both stop before the bottom step.

The office huffs at Keith. “You’re the one claiming to be Kogane.”

Keith stamps down the urge to bristle at the man. “Not claiming. Am.” 

“Still need to see some id, kid. And that gun.”

Keith hands the shot gun over but hesitates. “I, uhh, don’t have my id on me.”

The officer face twists and he makes to speak but is cut off by Coran before he even gets the chance to start. 

“Oh! Wait a tic,” he says and pats over his jacket pockets until he’s pulling out a familiar wallet. He tosses it to Keith with a wink. “Thought you might need this, had Hunk grab it for me.”

Keith nods at him, grateful and hands the officer his id. 

He takes it, handing the shotgun off to the ranger with a low grumble. The ranger accepts it silently and then raises an eyebrow, popping it open.

“It’s unloaded,” he says, speaking for the first time. He looks at Keith, a spark of interest in his eyes.

Keith shrugs. “Yeah, but they didn’t know that.”

The ranger stares at him for a moment and then huffs out a small laugh, cocking it back into place and handing it over. Keith takes it with a nod and then his id when the officer hands it back with a low grunt.

“So your Kogane’s kid, huh.” The officer eyes him. “Don’t look much like him.”

Kosmo rumbles and Keith opens his mouth to say—something, he’s not sure what—when the ranger interrupts. 

“He probably takes after his mother then.” Cool eyes look over the officer. “I think we’re done here. You can take these men back to the station and when it’s light we’ll do a sweep of the park for traps.”

He looks back over at Keith while the officer wilts slightly, walking off in silence. 

“I suspect you’re going to go over your property later for the traps?” At Keith’s nod, he hums. “Would you like assistance?”

Keith wavers. It would be a lot easier to dig up all the traps with help but he didn’t know what else was out there—did Shiro leave blood or footprints behind in his escape? Keith couldn’t risk it.

“No,” he says eventually. “No, I can look after it.”

“If you require an extra hand,” Coran says, tugging the end of his moustache, “The others and I would be perfectly willing to help.”

“Thanks Coran,” Keith says gratefully. 

The ranger nods. “Very well then.” He steps back from the house and then freezes as a large creak reaches them from the inside of the cabin.

“Is there someone else in there?” he asks, brows furrowing. 

“Uh, no.” Keith says quickly.

“Just the cabin settling, wasn’t it?” Coran chimes in. He raps a knuckle against the porch railings. “Looks like she needs a little work.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Keith admits. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out here.” 

Keith looks up at the cabin, taking in its face for the first time. The wooden panels are worn and in some places where its damp he can see the faint green of moss growing up the side. The porch itself looks more than a little worse for wear, some of the rungs laying broken on the ground and some of the boards rotted through.

Somehow it still looks steady despite the damage. 

“Hmm.” The ranger stares up at the cabin and Keith feels the back of his neck prickle. “Well if you ever need a hand with repairs I’m sure some of us can help.”

“Thanks,” Keith says slowly.

The wind picks up for a moment, moving through the trees. “Strange forest this,” the ranger murmurs. The corner of his lips quirk. “You fit right in.”

He nods at Keith and then Coran and turns to leave.

“Wait,” Keith blurts out. The ranger pauses, half turning towards him. “What’s your name?”

The ranger stares at him for a second, before bowing his head towards him ever so slightly. “Kolivan.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Keith says eventually. 

The ranger smiles a barely there smile. “Nice to meet you too, Keith Kogane.”

Then he’s gone, mingling with the rest of the people slowly vacating his home.

“Well, that was interesting,” Coran says quietly. Keith grunts. “I suppose I should be heading back with them,” he continues, looking slyly at Keith. “I assume you’re staying out here.”

Keith fiddles with the empty shotgun in his hand. “Yeah— I…” He clears his throat. “Yes. I’m gonna stay here.”

Coran nods, easily accepting. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely rest of the night then. If it’s okay with you, I think the others will want to see you later tomorrow.” He looks up, squinting. “Or today I suppose.”

“Sure,” Keith says easily. “You think you can find your way back?”

Coran smiles at him. “I’m sure I can manage to lead us all back. And don’t worry, we’ll come in the afternoon, not the morning. Good night Keith.”

“Good night Coran,” Keith says softly as the man turns to go, following the last of the people out into the trees until the clearing is empty again.

He breathes easier once the crowd is gone. He leaves the empty shotgun against the railing and opens the cabin door, heading inside and holding the door open for Kosmo. 

Kosmo sniffs around the couch and then around the broken kitchen while Keith takes the time to look closer at the damage. He’ll need to get the roof fixed and some of the flooring and the plumbing probably needs to be updated. He wonders if the others would be willing to help since their quest for the Bigfoot seems to be at an end.

Maybe Coran could tell them that story while they work.

There’s a creak and a figure appears in the hallway from the bedrooms.

“Keith.” Shiro breathes. 

Keith turns to him, arms falling open, beckoning. “Shiro. They’re gone now.”

Shiro surges forward and Keith finds himself swept up by a strong arm. “Keith,” he says again into the mess of his hair.

Then he jolts, arm loosening. They both look down at at Kosmo, sniffing around Shiro’s feet. 

“Oh,” Shiro says. “Hello.”

Keith laughs. “This is Kosmo.”

“Kosmo,” Shiro repeats. “Your friend.”

“Yeah, my friend.” Keith runs a hand over Kosmo’s head, catching Shiro’s hand and holding in his own for Kosmo to smell. 

Kosmo sniffs it and then sneezes, tail wagging. “He likes you,” Keith announces.

They both watch as Kosmo trots off, continuing his inspection of the cabin. He looks like he fits in this place—amongst the moss and the trees and the old wood in this home that Keith had thought he’d lost. Keith leans back against Shiro, content to just watch for a second. Fatigue is slowly sinking into his bones—the day had been long and the night had been longer.

Shiro sways gently, holding Keith against him. 

“Bed,” he rumbles. “Sleep.”

Keith nods, humming. “Sounds good to me.” 

He lets Shiro lead him back to the bedroom and its nest of blankets and the stars on the ceiling. Outside the wind still rustles through the trees but it’s calmer now, like now that the hunters were gone the forest itself was content. 

He strips down to his boxers, Shiro watching him quietly as he lays his knife to the side. He sinks down with a sigh until he’s laying down and Shiro follows, curling around him from behind and tucking him under his chin. 

He’s warm against the cold of the room, heat building up between them and the blanket Keith carefully threw over them. 

Shiro sighs out a breath behind him.

“Don’t—don’t leave.” Shiro asks him, quiet, almost shy. “Stay?”

Keith runs his fingers over stone and leather. “I think that can be arranged. The other’s will have to help with the repairs though.”

“Repairs?” Shiro sounds sleepy.

“On the cabin. So I can move back out here. With you.”

The cabin was an hours drive from the city but he could work that around his classes when they started up again, as well as his shifts at the garage. The idea of returning to his home had already dug itself under his skin to settle about his ribcage. This was the place his dad had built—a safe haven from the rest of the world, cradled within the woods embrace. It felt right to be back here, already more comfortable than his tiny apartment or any home he’d stayed in had ever been.

“With me.” Shiro whispers, nuzzling against the nape of his neck. 

There’s the clicking of claws on wood and then Kosmo appears in the doorway. He stares at the two of them, with knowing yellow eyes and then comes up to the nest. He circles himself once, twice and then curls up by Keith’s legs, another point of warmth. 

“Us,” Keith corrects softly. “So _we_ can move out here.”

Shiro purrs. 

“I don’t suppose you ever wanted a dog?” Keith asks with a soft smile.

Shiro chuffs behind him, prodding at Keith’s side gently. “Not a dog,” he rumbles, hand reaching out to stroke over Kosmo’s head. 

Keith watches and finds himself nodding against the blankets. “You’re probably right.”

He settles back into Shiro’s hold with a soft noise and the Bigfoot continues to purr behind him. He has a lot of questions, more than he ever thought this trip would offer. He wants to know how his dad knew about Shiro and his family. He wants to know who Sendak was working for—what she wants and what he needs to do to make sure neither she, nor her people ever darken his wood again. 

But laying there, drifting off to sleep in the cabin his dad built and under the watchful eyes of a little plastic lion, Keith knows that they can be questions for another day and that he won’t have to answer them alone. He’ll have Shiro to help him and Kosmo too and he knows, somewhere deep in his gut, that the others will be there for him as well.

His chest feels warm and tight at that. He hasn’t had a family in a long time but he thinks he does now.

And the last though he has before sleep claims him completely is that next time he makes the trip back to his apartment, he’ll have to grab the red lion from its place as sentinel on his desk. 

The two of them were meant to be a pair, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thats all for now folks BUT in saying that there's a chance I might ass an epilogue to this and and even bigger chance that I'll turn this into a series to try answering a few of those questions.
> 
> Until then, come yell at me about sheith on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PatchOfFeathers)!

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about sheith on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PatchOfFeathers)


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